440 


THE 

SILVERADO  SQUATTERS 


liY 

ROBERT    LOUIS    STEVENSON 


e/2.  i 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1S99 

[All  rights  reserved] 


c  ,^G 


"Vixerunt  nonnulli  in  agris,  delectati 
re  sua  familiari.  His  idem  propositum 
fuit  quod  regibus,  ut  ne  qua  re  agerent, 
ne  cui  parerent,  libertate  uterentur :  cu- 
jus  proprium  est  sic  vivere  ut  velis." 

— Cic,  De  Off.,  I.  xx. 


.  .      -      .      _> 


tfcc» 
VIRGIL   WILLIAMS 

AND 

DORA    NORTON   WILLIAMS 

THESE    SKETCHES   ARE    AFFECTIONATELY    DEDICATED 
BY   THEIR    FRIEND 

THE   AUTHOR 


CONTENTS 


In  the  Valley  : 

I.     Calistoga     .... 
II.     The  Petrified  Forest  . 

III.  Napa  Wine 

IV.  The  Scot  Abroad 

With  the  Children  of  Israel  : 

I.     To  Introduce  Mr.  Kelmar 
II.     First  Impressions  of  Silverado 
III.     The  Return 

The  Act  of  Squatting 
The  Hunter's  Family 
The  Sea  Fogs 
The  Toll  House 
A  Starry  Drive 
■  Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine 
Toils  and  Pleasures  . 


PAGE 
II 

20 

28 

39 


49 

56 

75 

85 
105 
125 
139 
151 
161 

183 


THE  SILVERADO  SQUATTERS 

THE  scene  of  this  little  book  is  on  a  high 
mountain.  There  are,  indeed,  many 
higher ;  there  are  many  of  a  nobler  out- 
line. It  is  no  place  of  pilgrimage  for  the 
summary  globe-trotter ;  but  to  one  who 
lives  upon  its  sides,  Mount  Saint  Helena 
soon  becomes  a  centre  of  interest.  It  is 
the  Mont  Blanc  of  one  section  of  the  Cali- 
fornian  Coast  Range,  none  of  its  near 
neighbours  rising  to  one-half  its  altitude. 
It  looks  down  on  much  green,  intricate 
country.  It  feeds  in  the  spring-time  many 
splashing  brooks.  From  its  summit  you 
must  have  an  excellent  lesson  of  geog- 
raphy :  seeing,  to  the  south,  San  Francisco 
Bay,  with  Tamalpais  on  the  one  hand  and 
Monte  Diablo  on  the  other  ;  to  the  west 


2  The  Silverado  Squatters 

and  thirty  miles  away,  the  open  ocean  ; 
eastward,  across  the  corn-lands  and  thick 
tule  swamps  of  Sacramento  Valley,  to 
where  the  Central  Pacific  railroad  begins  to 
climb  the  sides  of  the  Sierras ;  and  north- 
ward, for  what  I  know,  the  white  head  of 
Shasta  looking  down  on  Oregon.  Three 
counties,  Napa  County,  Lake  County,  and 
Sonoma  County,  march  across  its  cliffy 
shoulders.  Its  naked  peak  stands  nearly 
four  thousand  five  hundred  feet  above  the 
sea  ;  its  sides  are  fringed  with  forest ;  and 
the  soil,  where  it  is  bare,  glows  warm  with 
cinnabar. 

Life  in  its  shadow  goes  rustically  for- 
ward. Bucks,  and  bears,  and  rattlesnakes, 
and  former  mining  operations,  are  the 
staple  of  men's  talk.  Agriculture  has  only 
begun  to  mount  above  the  valley.  And 
though  in  a  few  years  from  now  the  whole 
district  may  be  smiling  with  farms,  passing 
trains  shaking  the  mountain  to  the  heart, 
many-windowed  hotels  lighting  up  the  night 
like  factories,  and  a  prosperous  city  occupy- 
ing the  site  of  sleepy  Calistoga ;  yet  in  the 


The  Silverado  Squatters  3 

mean  time,  around  the  foot  of  that  moun- 
tain the  silence  of  nature  reigns  in  a  great 
measure  unbroken,  and  the  people  of  hill 
and  valley  go  sauntering  about  their  busi- 
ness as  in  the  days  before  the  flood. 

To  reach  Mount  Saint  Helena  from  San 
Francisco,  the  traveller  has  twice  to  cross 
the  bay :  once  by  the  busy  Oakland  Ferry, 
and  again,  after  an  hour  or  so  of  the  rail- 
way, from  Vallejo  junction  to  Vallejo. 
Thence  he  takes  rail  once  more  to  mount 
the  long  green  strath  of  Napa  Valley. 

In  all  the  contractions  and  expansions 
of  that  inland  sea,  the  Bay  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, there  can  be  few  drearier  scenes  than 
the  Vallejo  Ferry.  Bald  shores  and  a  low, 
bald  islet  inclose  the  sea ;  through  the 
narrows  the  tide  bubbles,  muddy  like  a 
river.  When  we  made  the  passage  (bound, 
although  yet  we  knew  it  not,  for  Silverado) 
the  steamer  jumped,  and  the  black  buoys 
were  dancing  in  the  jabble ;  the  ocean 
breeze  blew  killing  chill  ;  and,  although 
the  upper  sky  was  still  unflecked  with 
vapour,  the  sea  fogs  were  pouring  in  from 


4  The  Silverado  Squatters 

seaward,  over  the  hilltops  of  Marin  county, 
in  one  great,  shapeless,  silver  cloud. 

South  Vallejo  is  typical  of  many  Cali- 
fornian  towns.  It  was  a  blunder ;  the  site 
has  proved  untenable ;  and,  although  it  is 
still  such  a  young  place  by  the  scale  of 
Europe,  it  has  already  begun  to  be  deserted 
for  its  neighbour  and  namesake,  North 
Vallejo.  A  long  pier,  a  number  of  drink- 
ing saloons,  a  hotel  of  a  great  size,  marshy 
pools  where  the  frogs  keep  up  their  croak- 
ing, and  even  at  high  noon  the  entire  ab- 
sence of  any  human  face  or  voice — these 
are  the  marks  of  South  Vallejo.  Yet  there 
was  a  tall  building  beside  the  pier,  labelled 
the  Star  Flour  Mills ;  and  sea-going,  full- 
rigged  ships  lay  close  along  shore,  waiting 
for  their  cargo.  Soon  these  would  be 
plunging  round  the  Horn,  soon  the  flour 
from  the  Star  Flour  Mills  would  be  landed 
on  the  wharves  of  Liverpool.  For  that, 
too,  is  one  of  England's  outposts  ;  thither, 
to  this  gaunt  mill,  across  the  Atlantic  and 
Pacific  deeps  and  round  about  the  icy 
Horn,    this  crowd   of  great,   three-masted, 


\ 

\  The  Silverado  Squatters  5 

\ 

deep-sea,  ships  come,  bringing  nothing, 
and  return  with  bread. 

The  Frisby  House,  for  that  was  the 
name  of  the  hotel,  was  a  place  of  fallen 
fortunes,  like  the  town.  It  was  now  given 
up  to  labourers,  and  partly  ruinous.  At 
dinner  there  was  the  ordinary  display  of 
what  is  called  in  the  west  a  two-bit  house : 
the  tablecloth  checked  red  and  white,  the 
plague  of  flies,  the  wire  hencoops  over  the 
dishes,  the  great  variety  and  invariable 
vileness  of  the  food  and  the  rough  coatless 
men  devouring  it  in  silence.  In  our  bed- 
room, the  stove  would  not  burn,  though 
it  would  smoke ;  and  while  one  window 
would  not  open,  the  other  would  not  shut. 
There  was  a  view  on  a  bit  of  empty  road,  a 
few  dark  houses,  a  donkey  wandering  with 
its  shadow  on  a  slope,  and  a  blink  of  sea, 
with  a  tall  ship  lying  anchored  in  the 
moonlight.  All  about  that  dreary  inn 
frogs  sang  their  ungainly  chorus. 

Early  the  next  morning  we  mounted  the 
hill  along  a  wooden  footway,  bridging  one 
marish  spot  after  another.     Here  and  there, 


/ 


6  The  Silverado  Squatters 

as  we  ascended,  we  passed  a  house  embow- 
ered in  white  roses.  More  of  the  bay  be- 
came apparent,  and  soon  the  blue  peak  of 
Tamalpais  rose  above  the  green  level  of 
the  island  opposite.  It  told  us  we  were 
still  but  a  little  way  from  the  city  of  the 
Golden  Gates,  already,  at  that  hour,  begin- 
ning to  awake  among  the  sand-hills.  It 
called  to  us  over  the  waters  as  with  the 
voice  of  a  bird.  Its  stately  head,  blue  as  a 
sapphire  on  the  paler  azure  of  the  sky, 
spoke  to  us  of  wider  outlooks  and  the 
bright  Pacific.  For  Tamalpais  stands  sen- 
try, like  a  lighthouse,  over  the  Golden 
Gates,  between  the  bay  and  the  open 
ocean,  and  looks  down  indifferently  on 
both.  Even  as  we  saw-  and  hailed  it  from 
Vallejo,  seamen,  far  out  at  sea,  were  scan- 
ning it  with  shaded  eyes ;  and,  as  if  to 
answer  to  the  thought,  one  of  the  great 
ships  below  began  silently  to  clothe  herself 
with  white  sails,  homeward  bound  for 
England. 

For  some  way  beyond  Vallejo  the  rail- 
way led   us  through   bald  green  pastures. 


The  Silverado  Squatters  7 

On  the  west  the  rough  highlands  of  Marin 
shut  off  the  ocean  ;  in  the  midst,  in  long, 
straggling,  gleaming  arms,  the  bay  died  out 
among  the  grass ;  there  were  few  trees  and 
few  enclosures  ;  the  sun  shone  wide  over 
open  uplands,  the  displumed  hills  stood 
clear  against  the  sky.  But  by-and-by  these 
hills  began  to  draw  nearer  on  either  hand, 
and  first  thicket  and  then  wood  began  to 
clothe  their  sides  ;  and  soon  we  were  away 
from  all  signs  of  the  sea's  neighbourhood, 
mounting  an  inland,  irrigated  valley.  A 
great  variety  of  oaks  stood,  now  severally, 
now  in  a  becoming  grove,  among  the  fields 
and  vineyards.  The  towns  were  compact, 
in  about  equal  proportions,  of  bright,  new 
wooden  houses  and  great  and  growing  for- 
est trees ;  and  the  chapel  bell  on  the  engine 
sounded  most  festally  that  sunny  Sunday, 
as  we  drew  up  at  one  green  town  after 
another,  with  the  townsfolk  trooping  in 
their  Sunday's  best  to  see  the  strangers, 
with  the  sun  sparkling  on  the  clean  houses, 
and  great  domes  of  foliage  humming  over- 
head in  the  breeze. 


8  The  Silverado  Squatters 

This  pleasant  Napa  Valley  is,  at  its 
north  end,  blockaded  by  our  mountain. 
There,  at  Calistoga,  the  railroad  ceases, 
and  the  traveller  who  intends  faring  far- 
ther, to  the  Geysers  or  to  the  springs  in 
Lake  County,  must  cross  the  spurs  of  the 
mountain  by  stage.  Thus,  Mount  Saint 
Helena  is  not  only  a  summit,  but  a  fron- 
tier; and,  up  to  the  time  of  writing,  it  has 
stayed  the  progress  of  the  iron  horse. 


IN    THE    VALLEY 


IN    THE    VALLEY 

I 

CALISTOGA 

TT  is  difficult  for  a  European  to  imagine 
Calistoga,  the  whole  place  is  so  new, 
and  of  such  an  occidental  pattern  ;  the  very 
name,  I  hear,  was  invented  at  a  supper- 
party  by  the  man  who  found  the  springs. 

The  railroad  and  the  highway  come  up 
thq  valley  about  parallel  to  one  another. 
The  street  of  Calistoga  joins  them,  per- 
pendicular to  both — a  wide  street,  with 
bright,  clean,  low  houses,  here  and  there 
a  verandah  over  the  sidewalk,  here  and 
there  a  horse-post,  here  and  there  lounging 
townsfolk.  Other  streets  are  marked  out, 
and  most  likely  named ;  for  these  towns 
in    the    New   World    begin    with    a    firm 


12  The  Silverado  Squatters 

resolve  to  grow  larger,  Washington  and 
Broadway,  and  then  First  and  Second,  and 
so  forth,  being  boldly  plotted  out  as  soon 
as  the  community  indulges  in  a  plan.  But, 
in  the  meanwhile,  all  the  life  and  most  of 
the  houses  of  Calistoga  are  concentrated 
upon  that  street  between  the  railway  sta- 
tion and  the  road.  I  never  heard  it  called 
by  any  name,  but  I  will  hazard  a  guess 
that  it  is  either  Washington  or  Broadway. 
Here  are  the  blacksmith's,  the  chemist's, 
the  general  merchant's,  and  Kong  Sam 
Kee,  the  Chinese  laundryman's ;  here,  prob- 
ably, is  the  office  of  the  local  paper  (for 
the  place  has  a  paper — they  all  have 
papers)  ;  and  here  certainly  is  one  of  the 
hotels,  Cheeseborough's,  whence  the  dar- 
ing Foss,  a  man  dear  to  legend,  starts  his 
horses   for  the  Geysers. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  we  are  here 
in  a  land  of  stage-drivers  and  highwaymen : 
a  land,  in  that  sense,  like  England  a  hun- 
dred years  ago.  The  highway  robber — 
road-agent,  he  is  quaintly  called — is  still 
busy   in    these    parts.     The    fame    of   Vas- 


In  the    Valley  13 

quez  is  still  young.  Only  a  few  years  ago, 
the  Lakeport  stage  was  robbed  a  mile  or 
two  from  Calistoga.  In  1879,  tne  dentist 
of  Mendocino  City,  fifty  miles  away  upon 
the  coast,  suddenly  threw  off  the  garments 
of  his  trade,  like  Grindoff,  in  The  Miller 
and  his  Men,  and  flamed  forth  in  his  second 
dress  as  a  captain  of  banditti.  A  great 
robbery  was  followed  by  a  long  chase,  a 
chase  of  days  if  not  of  weeks,  among  the 
intricate  hill-country ;  and  the  chase  was 
followed  by  much  desultory  fighting,  in 
which  several — and  the  dentist,  I  believe, 
amongst  the  number — bit  the  dust.  The 
grass  was  springing  for  the  first  time, 
nourished  upon  their  blood,  when  I  ar- 
rived in  Calistoga.  I  am  reminded  of 
another  highwayman  of  that  same  year. 
"  He  had  been  unwell,"  so  ran  his  humor- 
ous defence,  "  and  the  doctor  told  him 
to  take  something,  so  he  took  the  express- 
box." 

The  cultus  of  the  stage-coachman  always 
flourishes  highest  where  there  are  thieves 
on  the  road,  and  where  the  guard  travels 


14  The  Silverado  Squatters 

armed,  and  the  stage  is  not  only  a  link 
between  country  and  city,  and  the  vehicle 
of  news,  but  has  a  faint  warfaring  aroma, 
like  a  man  who  should  be  brother  to  a 
soldier.  California  boasts  her  famous 
stage-drivers,  and  among  the  famous  Foss 
is  not  forgotten.  Along  the  unfenced, 
abominable  mountain  roads,  he  launches 
his  team  with  small  regard  to  human  life 
or  the  doctrine  of  probabilities.  Flinching 
travellers,  who  behold  themselves  coasting 
eternity  at  every  corner,  look  with  natural 
admiration  at  their  driver's  huge,  impas- 
sive, fleshy  countenance.  He  has  the  very 
face  for  the  driver  in  Sam  Weller's  anec- 
dote, who  upset  the  election  party  at  the 
required  point.  Wonderful  tales  are  cur- 
rent of  his  readiness  and  skill.  One  in 
particular,  of  how  one  of  his  horses  fell  at 
a  ticklish  passage  of  the  road,  and  how 
Foss  let  slip  the  reins,  and,  driving  over  the 
fallen  animal,  arrived  at  the  next  stage 
with  only  three.  This  I  relate  as  I  heard 
it,  without  guarantee. 

I  only  saw  Foss  once,  though,  strange  as 


In  the   Valley  *5 

it  may  sound,  I  have  twice  talked  with 
him.  He  lives  out  of  Calistoga,  at  a  ranche 
called  Fossville.  One  evening,  after  he 
was  long  gone  home,  I  dropped  into 
Cheeseborough's  and  was  asked  if  I  should 
like  to  speak  with  Mr.  Foss.  Supposing 
that  the  interview  was  impossible,  and 
that  I  was  merely  called  upon  to  subscribe 
the  general  sentiment,  I  boldly  answered 
"Yes."  Next  moment,  I  had  one  instru- 
ment at  my  ear,  another  at  my  mouth,  and 
found  myself,  with  nothing  in  the  world 
to  say,  conversing  with  a  man  several  miles 
off  among  desolate  hills.  Foss  rapidly  and 
somewhat  plaintively  brought  the  conversa- 
tion to  an  end  ;  and  he  returned  to  his 
night's  grog  at  Fossville,  while  I  strolled 
forth  again  on  Calistoga  high  street.  But 
it  was  an  odd  thing  that  here,  on  what  we 
are  accustomed  to  consider  the  very  skirts 
of  civilization,  I  should  have  used  the  tele- 
phone for  the  first  time  in  my  civilized 
career.  So  it  goes  in  these  young  coun- 
tries ;  telephones,  and  telegraphs,  and 
newspapers,   and    advertisements    running 


1 6  The  Silverado  Squatters 

far  ahead  among  the  Indians  and  the 
grizzly  bears. 

Alone,  on  the  other  side  of  the  railway, 
stands  the  Springs  Hotel,  with  its  attend- 
ant cottages.  The  floor  of  the  valley  is 
extremely  level  to  the  very  roots  of  the 
hills;  only  here  and  there  a  hillock, 
crowned  with  pines,  rises  like  the  barrow 
of  some  chieftain  famed  in  war ;  and  right 
against  one  of  these  hillocks  is  the  Springs 
Hotel — is  or  was ;  for  since  I  was  there  the 
place  has  been  destroyed  by  fire,  and  has 
risen  again  from  its  ashes.  A  lawn  runs 
about  the  house,  and  the  lawn  is  in  its  turn 
surrounded  by  a  system  of  little  five- 
roomed  cottages,  each  with  a  verandah  and 
a  weedy  palm  before  the  door.  Some  of 
the  cottages  are  let  to  residents,  and  these 
are  wreathed  in  flowers.  The  rest  are 
occupied  by  ordinary  visitors  to  the  hotel ; 
and  a  very  pleasant  way  this  is,  by  which 
you  have  a  little  country  cottage  of  your 
own,  without  domestic  burthens,  and  by 
the  day  or  week. 

The    whole    neighbourhood    of     Mount 


In  the    Valley  17 

Saint  Helena  is  full  of  sulphur  and  of 
boiling  springs.  The  Geysers  are  famous  ; 
they  were  the  great  health  resort  of  the 
Indians  before  the  coming  of  the  whites. 
Lake  County  is  dotted  with  spas;  Hot 
Springs  and  White  Sulphur  Springs  are 
the  names  of  two  stations  on  the  Napa 
Valley  railroad  ;  and  Calistoga  itself  seems 
to  repose  on  a  mere  film  above  a  boiling, 
subterranean  lake.  At  one  end  of  the 
hotel  enclosure  are  the  springs  from  which 
it  takes  its  name,  hot  enough  to  scald  a 
child  seriously  while  I  was  there.  At  the 
other  end,  the  tenant  of  a  cottage  sank  a 
well,  and  there  also  the  water  came  up 
boiling.  It  keeps  this  end  of  the  valley  as 
warm  as  a  toast.  I  have  gone  across  to 
the  hotel  a  little  after  five  in  the  morning, 
when  a  sea  fog  from  the  Pacific  was  hang- 
ing thick  and  gray,  and  dark  and  dirty 
overhead,  and  found  the  thermometer  had 
been  up  before  me,  and  had  already  climbed 
among  the  nineties  ;  and  in  the  stress  of 
the  day  it  was  sometimes  too  hot  to  move 

about. 

2 


1 8  The  Silverado  Squatters 

But  in  spite  of  this  heat  from  above  and 
below,  doing  one  on  both  sides,  Calistoga 
was  a  pleasant  place  to  dwell  in  ;  beauti- 
fully green,  for  it  was  then  that  favoured 
moment  in  the  Californian  year,  when  the 
rains  are  over  and  the  dusty  summer  has 
not  yet  set  in ;  often  visited  by  fresh  airs, 
now  from  the  mountain,  now  across  So- 
noma from  the  sea  ;  very  quiet,  very  idle, 
very  silent  but  for  the  breezes  and  the 
cattle  bells  afield.  And  there  was  some- 
thing satisfactory  in  the  sight  of  that  great 
mountain  that  enclosed  us  to  the  north : 
whether  it  stood,  robed  in  sunshine,  quak- 
ing to  its  topmost  pinnacle  with  the  heat 
and  brightness  of  the  day ;  or  whether  it 
set  itself  to  weaving  vapours,  wisp  after 
wisp  growing,  trembling,  fleeting,  and  fad- 
ing in   the  blue. 

The  tangled,  woody,  and  almost  trackless 
foot-hills  that  enclose  the  valley,  shutting 
it  off  from  Sonoma  on  the  west,  and  from 
Yolo  on  the  east — rough  as  they  were  in 
outline,  dug  out  by  winter  streams,  crowned 
by  cliffy  bluffs  and    nodding  pine   trees — 


In  the   Valley  19 

were  dwarfed  into  satellites  by  the  bulk 
and  bearing  of  Mount  Saint  Helena.  She 
over-towered  them  by  two-thirds  of  her 
own  stature.  She  excelled  them  by  the 
boldness  of  her  profile.  Her  great  bald 
summit,  clear  of  trees  and  pasture,  a  cairn 
of  quartz  and  cinnabar,  rejected  kinship 
with  the  dark  and  shaggy  wilderness  of 
lesser  hill-tops. 


IN    THE    VALLEY 
II 

THE  PETRIFIED  FOREST 

"\A/E  drove  off  from  the  Springs  Hotel 
about  three  in  the  afternoon.  The 
sun  warmed  me  to  the  heart.  A  broad, 
cool  wind  streamed  pauselessly  down  the 
valley,  laden  with  perfume.  Up  at  the 
top  stood  Mount  Saint  Helena,  a  bulk 
of  mountain,  bare  atop,  with  tree-fringed 
spurs,  and  radiating  warmth.  Once  we 
saw  it  framed  in  a  grove  of  tall  and  exqui- 
sitely graceful  white  oaks,  in  line  and  colour 
a  finished  composition.  We  passed  a  cow 
stretched  by  the  roadside,  her  bell  slowly 
beating  time  to  the  movement  of  her  rumi- 
nating jaws,  her  big  red  face  crawled  over  by 
half  a  dozen  flies,  a  monument  of  content. 


In  the   Valley  2I 

A    little    farther,  and  we    struck    to    the 
left  up  a  mountain  road,  and  for  two  hours 
threaded    one    valley  after   another,  green, 
tangled,    full    of    noble    timber,    giving    us 
every    now    and    again    a    sight    of    Mount 
Saint  Helena   and  the  blue   hilly  distance, 
and    crossed    by    many    streams,    through 
which    we    splashed    to    the    carriage-step. 
To   the  right  or   the  left,  there  was  scarce 
any  trace  of  man  but  the  road  we  followed ; 
I  think  we  passed  but  one  ranchero's  house 
in  the  whole  distance,  and  that  was  closed 
and   smokeless.     But  we   had    the    society 
of   these    bright  streams — dazzlingly   clear, 
as  is  their  wont,  splashing  from  the  wheels 
in  diamonds,  and  striking  a  lively  coolness 
through  the  sunshine.     And  what  with  the 
innumerable  variety  of  greens,  the  masses 
of  foliage  tossing  in  the  breeze,  the  glimpses 
of   distance,    the    descents   into    seemingly 
impenetrable  thickets,  the  continual  dodg- 
ing   of    the    road    which    made    haste    to 
plunge    again    into    the    covert,  we    had    a 
fine  sense  of  woods,  and  spring-time,  and 
the  open  air. 


22  The  Silverado  Squatters 

Our  driver  gave  me  a  lecture  by  the  way 
_j3n  Californian  trees — a  thing  I  was  much 
in  need  of,  having  fallen  among  painters 
who  know  the  name  of  nothing,  and  Mexi- 
cans who  know  the  name  of  nothing  in 
English.  He  taught  me  the  madrona,  the 
manzanita,  the  buck-eye,  the  maple ;  he 
showed  me  the  crested  mountain  quail  ;  he 
showed  me  where  some  young  redwoods 
were  already  spiring  heavenwards  from  the 
ruins  of  the  old  ;  for  in  this  district  all  had 
already  perished:  redwoods  and  redskins, 
the  two  noblest  indigenous  living  things, 
alike  condemned. 

At  length,  in  a  lonely  dell,  we  came  on  a 
huge  wooden  gate  with  a  sign  upon  it  like 
an  inn.  "  The  Petrified  Forest.  Proprietor : 
C.  Evans,"  ran  the  legend.  Within,  on  a 
knoll  of  sward,  was  the  house  of  the  pro- 
•  prietor,  and  another  smaller  house  hard  by 
to  serve  as  a  museum,  where  photographs 
and  petrifactions  were  retailed.  It  was  a 
pure  little  isle  of  touristry  among  these 
solitary  hills. 

The   proprietor  was  a    brave  old  white- 


In  the   Valley  25 

faced  Swede.  He  had  wandered  this  way, 
Heaven  knows  how,  and  taken  up  his  acres 
— I  forget  how  many  years  ago — all  alone, 
bent  double  with  sciatica,  and  with  six  bits 
in  his  pocket  and  an  axe  upon  his  shoulder. 
Long,  useless  years  of  seafaring  had  thus 
discharged  him  at  the  end,  penniless  and 
sick.  Without  doubt  he  had  tried  his  luck 
at  the  diggings,  and  got  no  good  from  that ; 
without  doubt  he  had  loved  the  bottle,  and 
lived  the  life  of  Jack  ashore.  But  at  the 
end  of  these  adventures,  here  he  came ; 
and,  the  place  hitting  his  fancy,  down  he 
sat  to  make  a  new  life  of  it,  far  from  crimps 
and  the  salt  sea.  And  the  very  sight  of  his 
ranche  had  done  him  good.  It  was  "  the 
handsomest  spot  in  the  Californy  moun- 
tains." "Isn't  it  handsome,  now?"  he 
said.  Every  penny  he  makes  goes  into 
that  ranche  to  make  it  handsomer.  Then 
the  climate,  with  the  sea-breeze  every  after- 
noon in  the  hottest  summer  weather,  had 
gradually  cured  the  sciatica  ;  and  his  sister 
and  niece  were  now  domesticated  with  him 
for   company — or,   rather,  the    niece   came 


24  The  Silverado  Squatters 

only  once  in  the  two  days,  teaching  music 
the  meanwhile  in  the  valley.  And  then, 
for  a  last  piece  of  luck,  "  the  handsomest 
spot  in  the  Californy  mountains  "  had  pro- 
duced a  petrified  forest,  which  Mr.  Evans 
now  shows  at  the  modest  figure  of  half  a 
dollar  a  head,  or  two-thirds  of  his  capital 
when  he  first  came  there  with  an  axe  and  a 
sciatica. 

This  tardy  favourite  of  fortune— hob- 
bling a  little,  I  think,  as  if  in  memory  of 
the  sciatica,  but  with  not  a  trace  that  I  can 
remember  of  the  sea — thoroughly  ruralized 
from  head  to  foot,  proceeded  to  escort  us 
up  the  hill  behind  his  house. 

"  Who  first  found  the  forest  ? "  asked 
my  wife. 

"The  first?  I  was  that  man,"  said  he. 
"  I  was  cleaning  up  the  pasture  for  my 
beasts,  when  I  found  this " — kicking  a 
great  redwood,  seven  feet  in  diameter,  that 
lay  there  on  its  side,  hollow  heart,  clinging 
lumps  of  bark,  all  changed  into  gray  stone, 
with  veins  of  quartz  between  what  had 
been  the  layers  of  the  wood. 


In  the   Valley  25 

"  Were  you  surprised  ?  " 

"  Surprised  ?  No  !  What  would  I  be 
surprised  about  ?  What  did  I  know  about 
petrifactions — following  the  sea  ?  Petri- 
faction !  There  was  no  such  word  in  my 
language !  I  knew  about  putrifaction, 
though !  I  thought  it  was  a  stone  ;  so 
would  you,  if  you  was  cleaning  up  pas- 
ture." 

And  now  he  had  a  theory  of  his  own, 
which  I  did  not  quite  grasp,  except  that 
the  trees  had  not  "  grewed  "  there.  But 
he  mentioned,  with  evident  pride,  that  he 
differed  from  all  the  scientific  people  who 
had  visited  the  spot  ;  and  he  flung  about 
such  words  as  "  tufa  "  and  "  scilica  "  with 
careless  freedom. 

When  I  mentioned  I  was  from  Scotland, 
"  My  old  country,"  he  said  ;  "  my  old 
country  " — with  a  smiling  look  and  a  tone 
of  real  affection  in  his  voice.  I  was  might- 
ily surprised,  for  he  was  obviously  Scandi- 
navian, and  begged  him  to  explain.  It 
seemed  he  had  learned  his  English  and 
done  nearly  all  his  sailing  in  Scotch  ships. 


26  The  Silverado  Squatters 

"  Out  of  Glasgow,"  said  he,  "  or  Greenock  ; 
but  that's  all  the  same — they  all  hail  from 
Glasgow."  And  he  was  so  pleased  with 
me  for  being  a  Scotsman,  and  his  adopted 
compatriot,  that  he  made  me  a  present  of 
a  very  beautiful  piece  of  petrifaction — I 
believe  the  most  beautiful  and  portable  he 
had. 

Here  was  a  man,  at  least,  who  was  a 
Swede,  a  Scot,  and  an  American,  acknowl- 
edging some  kind  allegiance  to  three 
lands.  Mr.  Wallace's  Scoto-Circassian  will 
not  fail  to  come  before  the  reader.  I  have 
myself  met  and  spoken  with  a  Fifeshire 
German,  whose  combination  of  abominable 
accents  struck  me  dumb.  But,  indeed,  I 
think  we  all  belong  to  many  countries. 
And  perhaps  this  habit  of  much  travel,  and 
the  engendering  of  scattered  friendships, 
may  prepare  the  euthanasia  of  ancient 
nations. 

And  the  forest  itself?  Well,  on  a 
tangled,  briery  hillside — for  the  pasture 
would  bear  a  little  further  cleaning  up,  to 
my  eyes — there  lie   scattered  thickly  vari- 


In  the   Valley  2j 

ous  lengths  of  petrified  trunk,  such  as  the 
one  already  mentioned.  It  is  very  curious, 
of  course,  and  ancient  enough,  if  that  were 
all.  Doubtless,  the  heart  of  the  geologist 
beats  quicker  at  the  sight  ;  but,  for  my 
part,  I  was  mightily  unmoved.  Sight-see- 
ing is  the  art  of  disappointment. 

"  There's  nothing  under  heaven  so  blue, 
That's  fairly  worth  the  travelling  to." 

But,  fortunately,  Heaven  rewards  us  with 
many  agreeable  prospects  and  adventures 
by  the  way  ;  and  sometimes,  when  we  go 
out  to  see  a  petrified  forest,  prepares  a  far 
more  delightful  curiosity  in  the  form  of 
Mr.  Evans,  whom  may  all  prosperity  attend 
throughout  a  long  and  green  old  age. 


IN    THE    VALLEY 

III 

NAPA  WINE 

WAS  interested  in  Californian  wine. 
Indeed,  I  am  interested  in  all  wines,  and 
have  been  all  my  life,  from  the  raisin  wine 
that  a  schoolfellow  kept  secreted  in  his 
play-box  up  to  my  last  discovery,  those 
notable  Valtellines,  that  once  shone  upon 
the  board  of  Caesar. 

Some  of  us,  kind  old  Pagans,  watch 
with  dread  the  shadows  falling  on  the  age  : 
how  the  unconquerable  worm  invades  the 
sunny  terraces  of  France,  and  Bordeaux 
is  no  more,  and  the  Rhone  a  mere  Arabia 
Petraea.  Chateau  Neuf  is  dead,  and  I  have 
never  tasted  it  ;  Hermitage — a  hermitage 
indeed  from  all  life's  sorrows — lies  expiring 


In  the    Valley  29 

by  the  river.  And  in  the  place  of  these 
imperial  elixirs,  beautiful  to  every  sense, 
gem-hued,  flower-scented,  dream-compel- 
lers  : — behold  upon  the  quays  at  Cette  the 
chemicals  arrayed  ;  behold  the  analyst  at 
Marseilles,  raising  hands  in  obsecration,  at- 
testing god  Lyceus,  and  the  vats  staved  in, 
and  the  dishonest  wines  poured  forth  among 
the  sea.  It  is  not  Pan  only  ;  Bacchus,  too, 
is  dead. 

If  wine  is  to  withdraw  its  most  poetic 
countenance,  the  sun  of  the  white  dinner- 
cloth,  a  deity  to  be  invoked  by  two  or 
three,  all  fervent,  hushing  their  talk,  degust- 
ing  tenderly,  and  storing  reminiscences — 
for  a  bottle  of  good  wine,  like  a  good  act, 
shines  ever  in  the  retrospect — if  wine  is  to 
desert  us,  go  thy  ways,  old  Jack  !  Now 
we  begin  to  have  compunctions,  and  look 
back  at  the  brave  bottles  squandered  upon 
dinner-parties,  where  the  guests  drank 
grossly,  discussing  politics  the  while,  and 
even  the  schoolboy  "  took  his  whack," 
like  liquorice  water.  And  at  the  same 
time,  we  look  timidly  forward,  with  a  spark 


30  The  Silverado  Squatters 

of  hope,  to  where  the  new  lands,  already 
weary  of  producing  gold,  begin  to  green 
with  vineyards.  A  nice  point  in  human 
history  falls  to  be  decided  by  Californian 
and  Australian  wines. 

Wine  in  California  is  still  in  the  experi- 
mental stage ;  and  when  you  taste  a 
vintage,  grave  economical  questions  are 
involved.  The  beginning  of  vine-planting 
is  like  the  beginning  of  mining  for  the 
precious  metals :  the  wine-grower  also 
"  prospects."  One  corner  of  land  after 
another  is  tried  with  one  kind  of  grape 
after  another.  This  is  a  failure  ;  that  is 
better  ;  a  third  best.  So,  bit  by  bit,  they 
grope  about  for  their  Clos  Vougeot  and 
Lafite.  Those  lodes  and  pockets  of  earth, 
more  precious  than  the  precious  ores,  that 
yield  inimitable  fragrance  and  soft  fire ; 
those  virtuous  Bonanzas,  where  the  soil  has 
sublimated  under  sun  and  stars  to  some- 
thing finer,  and  the  wine  is  bottled  poetry: 
these  still  lie  undiscovered  ;  chaparral  con- 
ceals, thicket  embowers  them  ;  the  miner 
chips   the  rock   and  wanders   farther,  and 


In  the   Valley  31 

the  grizzly  muses  undisturbed.  But  there 
they  bide  their  hour,  awaiting  their  Colum- 
bus ;  and  nature  nurses  and  prepares  them. 
The  smack  of  Californian  earth  shall  linger 
on  the  palate  of  your  grandson. 

Meanwhile  the  wine  is  merely  a  good 
wine  ;  the  best  that  I  have  tasted  better 
than  a  Beaujolais,  and  not  unlike.  But 
the  trade  is  poor  ;  it  lives  from  hand  to 
mouth,  putting  its  all  into  experiments, 
and  forced  to  sell  its  vintages.  To  find 
one  properly  matured,  and  bearing  its  own 
name,  is  to  be  fortune's  favourite. 

Bearing  its  own  name,  I  say,  and  dwell 
upon  the  innuendo. 

"  You  want  to  know  why  California  wine 
is  not  drunk  in  the  States  ?  "  a  San  Fran- 
cisco wine  merchant  said  to  me,  after  he 
had  shown  me  through  his  premises. 
"  Well,  here's  the  reason." 

And  opening  a  large  cupboard,  fitted 
with  many  little  drawers,  he  proceeded  to 
shower  me  all  over  with  a  great  variety 
of  gorgeously  tinted  labels,  blue,  red,  or 
yellow,    stamped    with    crown    or    coronet, 


32  The  Silverado  Squatters 

and  hailing  from  such  a  profusion  of  clos 
and  chateaux,  that  a  single  department 
could  scarce  have  furnished  forth  the 
names.  But  it  was  strange  that  all  looked 
unfamiliar. 

"Chateau     X ? "  said    I.     "I    never 

heard  of  that." 

"  I  dare  say  not,"  said  he.  "  I  had  been 
reading  one  of  X 's  novels." 

They  were  all  castles  in  Spain !  But 
that  sure  enough  is  the  reason  why  Cali- 
fornia wine  is  not  drunk  in  the  States. 

Napa  valley  has  been  long  a  seat  of  the 
wine-growing  industry.  It  did  not  here 
begin,  as  it  does  too  often,  in  the  low  val- 
ley lands  along  the  river,  but  took  at  once 
to  the  rough  foot-hills,  where  alone  it  can 
expect  to  prosper.  A  basking  inclination, 
and  stones,  to  be  a  reservoir  of  the  day's 
heat,  seem  necessary  to  the  soil  for  wine  ; 
the  grossness  of  the  earth  must  be  evapo- 
rated, its  marrow  daily  melted  and  refined 
for  ages ;  until  at  length  these  clods  that 
break  below  our  footing,  and  to  the  eye 
appear  but   common   earth,  are    truly  and 


hi  the   Valley  33 

to  the  perceiving  mind,  a  masterpiece  of 
nature.  The  dust  of  Richebourg,  which 
the  wind  carries  away,  what  an  apotheosis 
of  the  dust  !  Not  man  himself  can  seem  a 
stranger  child  of  that  brown,  friable  pow- 
der, than  the  blood  and  sun  in  that  old 
flask  behind  the  faggots. 

A  Californian  vineyard,  one  of  man's 
outposts  in  the  wilderness,  has  features  of 
its  own.  There  is  nothing  here  to  remind 
you  of  the  Rhine  or  Rhone,  of  the  low 
cote  d' or,  ox  the  infamous  and  scabby  des- 
erts of  Champagne  ;  but  all  is  green,  soli- 
tary, covert.  We  visited  two  of  them,  Mr. 
Schram's  and  Mr.  M'Eckron's,  sharing  the 
same  glen. 

Some  way  down  the  valley  below  Calis- 
toga,  we  turned  sharply  to  the  south  and 
plunged  into  the  thick  of  the  wood.  A 
rude  trail  rapidly  mounting  ;  a  little  stream 
tinkling  by  on  the  one  hand,  big  enough 
perhaps  after  the  rains,  but  already  yield- 
ing up  its  life  ;  overhead  and  on  all  sides  a 
bower  of  green  and  tangled  thicket,  still 
fragrant  and  still  flower-bespangled  by  the 
3 


34  The  Silverado  Squatters 

early  season,  where  thimble-berry  played 
the  part  of  our  English  hawthorn,  and  the 
buck-eyes  were  putting  forth  their  twisted 
horns  of  blossom :  through  all  this,  we 
struggled  toughly  upwards,  canted  to  and 
fro  by  the  roughness  of  the  trail,  and  con- 
tinually switched  across  the  face  by  sprays 
of  leaf  or  blossom.  The  last  is  no  great 
inconvenience  at  home ;  but  here  in  Cali- 
fornia it  is  a  matter  of  some  moment.  For 
in  all  woods  and  by  every  wayside  there 
prospers  an  abominable  shrub  or  weed, 
called  poison  oak,  whose  very  neighbour- 
hood is  venomous  to  some,  and  whose 
actual  touch  is  avoided  by  the  most  im- 
pervious. 

The  two  houses,  with  their  vineyards, 
stood  each  in  a  green  niche  of  its  own  in 
this  steep  and  narrow  forest  dell.  Though 
they  were  so  near,  there  was  already  a  good 
difference  in  level;  and  Mr.  M'Eckron's 
head  must  be  a  long  way  under  the  feet 
of  Mr.  Schram.  No  more  had  been  cleared 
than  was  necessary  for  cultivation ;  close 
around  each  oasis  ran   the  tangled  wood ; 


In  the   Valley  35 

the  glen  enfolds  them  ;  there  they  lie  bask- 
ing in  sun  and  silence,  concealed  from  all 
but  the  clouds  and  the  mountain  birds. 

Mr.  M'Eckron's  is  a  bachelor  establish- 
ment ;  a  little  bit  of  a  wooden  house,  a 
small  cellar  hard  by  in  the  hillside,  and  a 
patch  of  vines  planted  and  tended  single- 
handed  by  himself.  He  had  but  recently 
begun  ;  his  vines  were  young,  his  business 
young  also  ;  but  I  thought  he  had  the  look 
of  the  man  who  succeeds.  He  hailed  from 
Greenock :  he  remembered  his  father  put- 
ting him  inside  Mons  Meg,  and  that 
touched  me  home ;  and  we  exchanged  a 
word  or  two  of  Scotch,  which  pleased  me 
more  than  you  would  fancy. 

Mr.  Schram's,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the 
oldest  vineyard  in  the  valley,  eighteen 
years  old,  I  think ;  yet  he  began  a  penni- 
less barber,  and  even  after  he  had  broken 
ground  up  here  with  his  black  malvoisies, 
continued  for  long  to  tramp  the  valley  with 
his  razor.  Now,  his  place  is  the  picture  of 
prosperity:  stuffed  birds  in  the  verandah, 
cellars  far  dug  into  the  hillside,  and  resting 


36  The  Silverado  Squatters 

on  pillars  like  a  bandit's  cave : — all  trim- 
ness,  varnish,  flowers,  and  sunshine,  among 
the  tangled  wildwood.  Stout,  smiling 
Mrs.  Schram,  who  has  been  to  Europe  and 
apparently  all  about  the  States  for  pleas- 
ure, entertained  Fanny  in  the  verandah, 
while  I  was  tasting  wines  in  the  cellar.  To 
Mr.  Schram  this  was  a  solemn  office  ;  his 
serious  gusto  warmed  my  heart ;  prosperity 
had  not  yet  wholly  banished  a  certain  neo- 
phite  and  girlish  trepidation,  and  he  fol- 
lowed every  sip  and  read  my  face  with 
proud  anxiety.  I  tasted  all.  I  tasted  every 
variety  and  shade  of  Schramberger,  red  and 
white  Schramberger,  Burgundy  Schram- 
berger, Schramberger  Hock,  Schramberger 
Golden  Chasselas,  the  latter  with  a  notable 
bouquet,  and  I  fear  to  think  how  many 
more.  Much  of  it  goes  to  London — most, 
I  think ;  and  Mr.  Schram  has  a  great  notion 
of  the  English  taste. 

In  this  wild  spot,  I  did  not  feel  the 
sacredness  of  ancient  cultivation.  It  was 
still  raw,  it  was  no  Marathon,  and  no 
Johannisberg ;    yet    the    stirring    sunlight, 


In  the    Valley  37 

and  the  growing  vines,  and  the  vats  and 
bottles  in  the  cavern,  made  a  pleasant 
music  for  the  mind.  Here,  also,  earth's 
cream  was  being  skimmed  and  garnered  ; 
and  the  London  customers  can  taste,  such 
as  it  is,  the  tang  of  the  earth  in  this  green 
valley.  So  local,  so  quintessential  is  a 
wine,  that  it  seems  the  very  birds  in  the 
verandah  might  communicate  a  flavour, 
and  that  romantic  cellar  influence  the 
bottle  next  to  be  uncorked  in  Pimlico,  and 
the  smile  of  jolly  Mr.  Schram  might  man- 
tle in  the  glass. 

But  these  are  but  experiments.  All 
things  in  this  new  land  are  moving  farther 
on  :  the  wine-vats  and  the  miner's  blasting 
tools  but  picket  for  a  night,  like  Bedouin 
pavillions  ;  and  to-morrow,  to  fresh  woods ! 
This  stir  of  change  and  these  perpetual 
echoes  of  the  moving  footfall,  haunt  the  , 
land.  Men  move  eternally,  still  chasing 
Fortune  ;  and,  fortune  found,  still  wander. 
As  we  drove  back  to  Calistoga,  the  road 
lay  empty  of  mere  passengers,  but  its  green 
side  was  dotted  with  the  camps  of  travel- 


38  The  Silverado  Squatters 

ling  families  :  one  cumbered  with  a  great 
waggonful  of  household  stuff,  settlers  going 
to  occupy  a  ranche  they  had  taken  up  in 
Mendocino,  or  perhaps  Tehama  County ; 
another,  a  party  in  dust  coats,  men  and 
women,  whom  we  found  camped  in  a  grove 
on  the  roadside,  all  on  pleasure  bent,  with 
a  Chinaman  to  cook  for  them,  and  who 
waved  their  hands  to  us  as  we  drove  by. 


IN    THE    VALLEY 

IV 
THE  SCOT  ABROAD 

A  FEW  pages  back,  I  wrote  that  a  man 
belonged,  in  these  days,  to  a  variety 
of  countries  ;  but  the  old  land  is  still  the 
true  love,  the  others  are  but  pleasant  in- 
fidelities. Scotland  is  indefinable  ;  it  has 
no  unity  except  upon  the  map.  Two  lan- 
guages, many  dialects,  innumerable  forms 
of  piety,  and  countless  local  patriotisms  and 
prejudices,  part  us  among  ourselves  more 
widely  than  the  extreme  east  and  west  of 
that  great  continent  of  America.  When  I 
am  at  home,  I  feel  a  man  from  Glasgow  to 
be  something  like  a  rival,  a  man  from  Barra 
to  be  more  than  half  a  foreigner.  Yet  let 
us  meet  in  some  far  country,  and,  whether 


4-0  The  Silverado  Squatters 

we  hail  from  the  braes  of  Manor  or  the 
braes  of  Mar,  some  ready-made  affection 
joins  us  on  the  instant.  It  is  not  race. 
Look  at  us.  One  is  Norse,  one  Celtic, 
and  another  Saxon.  It  is  not  community 
of  tongue.  We  have  it  not  among  our- 
selves ;  and  we  have  it  almost  to  perfec- 
tion, with  English,  or  Irish,  or  American. 
It  is  no  tie  of  faith,  for  we  detest  each 
other's  errors.  And  yet  somewhere,  deep 
down  in  the  heart  of  each  one  of  us,  some- 
thing yearns  for  the  old  land,  and  the  old 
kindly  people. 

Of  all  mysteries  of  the  human  heart,  this 
is  perhaps  the  most  inscrutable.  There  is 
no  special  loveliness  in  that  gray  country, 
with  its  rainy,  sea-beat  archipelago  ;  its 
fields  of  dark  mountains ;  its  unsightly 
places,  black  with  coal ;  its  treeless,  sour, 
unfriendly  looking  corn-lands  ;  its  quaint, 
gray,  castled  city,  where  the  bells  clash  of 
a  Sunday,  and  the  wind  squalls,  and  the 
salt  showers  fly  and  beat.  I  do  not  even 
know  if  I  desire  to  live  there  ;  but  let  me 
hear,  in  some  far  land,  a  kindred  voice  sing 


In  the    Valley  41 

out,  "Oh,  why  left  I  my  hame?"  and  it 
seems  at  once  as  if  no  beauty  under  the 
kind  heavens,  and  no  society  of  the  wise 
and  good,  can  repay  me  for  my  absence 
from  my  country.  And  though  I  think  I 
would  rather  die  elsewhere,  yet  in  my 
heart  of  hearts  I  long  to  be  buried  among 
good  Scots  clods.  I  will  say  it  fairly,  it 
grows  on  me  with  every  year:  there  are  no 
stars  so  lovely  as  Edinburgh  street-lamps. 
When  I  forget  thee,  auld  Reekie,  may  my 
right  hand  forget  its  cunning  ! 

The  happiest  lot  on  earth  is  to  be  born  a 
Scotchman.  You  must  pay  for  it  in  many 
ways,  as  for  all  other  advantages  on  earth. 
You  have  to  learn  the  paraphrases  and  the 
shorter  catechism  ;  you  generally  take  to 
drink ;  your  youth,  as  far  as  I  can  find 
out,  is  a  time  of  louder  war  against  society, 
of  more  outcry  and  tears  and  turmoil,  than 
if  you  had  been  born,  for  instance,  in  Eng- 
land. But  somehow  life  is  warmer  and 
closer;  the  hearth  burns  more  redly;  the 
lights  of  home  shine  softer  on  the  rainy 
street ;  the  very  names,  endeared   in  verse 


42  The  Silverado  Squatters 

and  music,  cling  nearer  round  our  hearts. 
An  Englishman  may  meet  an  Englishman 
to-morrow,  upon  Chimborazo,  and  neither 
of  them  care ;  but  when  the  Scotch  wine- 
grower told  me  of  Mons  Meg,  it  was  like 
magic. 

"  From  the  dim  shieling  on  the  misty  island 
Mountains  divide  us,  and  a  world  of  seas  ; 
Yet   still   our    hearts   are   true,   our    hearts    are 
Highland, 
And  we,  in  dreams,  behold  the  Hebrides." 

And,  Highland  and  Lowland,  all  our  hearts 
are  Scotch. 

Only  a  few  days  after  I  had  seen 
M'Eckron,  a  message  reached  me  in  my 
cottage.  It  was  a  Scotchman  who  had 
come  down  a  long  way  from  the  hills  to 
market.  He  had  heard  there  was  a 
countryman  in  Calistoga,  and  came  round 
to  the  hotel  to  see  him.  We  said  a  few 
words  to  each  other;  we  had  not  much 
to  say — should  never  have  seen  each  other 
had  we  stayed  at  home,  separated  alike 
in  space  and  in  society  ;  and  then  we  shook 


In  the   Valley  43 

hands,  and  he  went  his  way  again  to  his 
ranche  among  the  hills,  and  that  was  all. 

Another  Scotchman  there  was,  a  resi- 
dent, who  for  the  mere  love  of  the  common 
country,  douce,  serious,  religious  man,  drove 
me  all  about  the  valley,  and  took  as  much 
interest  in  me  as  if  I  had  been  his  son  : 
more,  perhaps ;  for  the  son  has  faults  too 
keenly  felt,  while  the  abstract  countryman 
is  perfect — like  a  whiff  of  peats. 

And  there  was  yet  another.  Upon  him 
I  came  suddenly,  as  he  was  calmly  entering 
my  cottage,  his  mind  quite  evidently  bent 
on  plunder:  a  man  of  about  fifty,  filthy, 
ragged,  roguish,  with  a  chimney-pot  hat 
and  a  tail  coat,  and  a  pursing  of  his  mouth 
that  might  have  been  envied  by  an  elder 
of  the  kirk.  He  had  just  such  a  face  as  I 
have  seen  a  dozen  times  behind  the  plate. 

"Hullo,  sir!"  I  cried.  "Where  are  you 
going?" 

He  turned  round  without  a  quiver. 

"You're  a  Scotchman,  sir?"  he  said 
gravely.  "  So  am  I ;  I  come  from  Aber- 
deen.    This    is   my   card,"    presenting   me 


44  The  Silverado  Squatters 

with  a  piece  of  pasteboard  which  he  had 
raked  out  of  some  gutter  in  the  period  of 
the  rains.  "  I  was  just  examining  this 
palm,"  he  continued,  indicating  the  mis- 
begotten plant  before  our  door,  "  which  is 
the  largest  specimen  I  have  yet  observed 
in  Califoarnia." 

There  were  four  or  five  larger  within 
sight.  But  where  was  the  use  of  argu- 
ment ?  He  produced  a  tape-line,  made 
me  help  him  to  measure  the  tree  at  the 
level  of  the  ground,  and  entered  the  figures 
in  a  large,  and  filthy  pocket-book,  all  with 
the  gravity  of  Solomon.  He  then  thanked 
me  profusely,  remarking  that  such  little 
services  were  due  between  countrymen ; 
shook  hands  with  me,  "  for  auld  lang  syne," 
as  he  said ;  and  took  himself  solemnly 
away,  radiating  dirt  and  humbug  as  he 
went. 

A  month  or  two  after  this  encounter  of 
mine,  there  came  a  Scot  to  Sacramento — 
perhaps  from  Aberdeen.  Anyway,  there 
never  was  any  one  more  Scotch  in  this 
wide   world.     He    could    sing    and    dance, 


In  the    Valley  45 

and  drink,  I  presume ;  and  he  played  the 
pipes  with  vigour  and  success.  All  the 
Scotch  in  Sacramento  became  infatuated 
with  him,  and  spent  their  spare  time  and 
money,  driving  him  about  in  an  open  cab, 
between  drinks,  while  he  blew  himself  scar- 
let at  the  pipes.  This  is  a  very  sad  story. 
After  he  had  borrowed  money  from  every 
one,  he  and  his  pipes  suddenly  disappeared 
from  Sacramento,  and  when  I  last  heard, 
the  police  were  looking  for  him. 

I  cannot  say  how  this  story  amused  me, 
when  I  felt  myself  so  thoroughly  ripe  on 
both  sides  to  be  duped  in  the  same  way. 

It  is  at  least  a  curious  thing,  to  conclude, 
that  the  races  which  wander  widest,  Jews 
and  Scotch,  should  be  the  most  clannish  in 
the  world.  But  perhaps  these  two  are  cause 
and  effect :  "  For  ye  were  strangers  in  the 
land  of  Egypt." 


WITH  THE  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL 


WITH  THE  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL 

l 

TO  INTRODUCE   MR.  KELMAR 

r\NE  thing  in  this  new  country  very 
particularly  strikes  a  stranger,  and 
that  is  the  number  of  antiquities.  Already 
there  have  been  many  cycles  of  population 
succeeding  each  other,  and  passing  away 
and  leaving  behind  them  relics.  These, 
standing  on  into  changed  times,  strike  the 
imagination  as  forcibly  as  any  pyramid  or 
feudal  tower.  The  towns,  like  the  vine- 
yards, are  experimentally  founded  :  they 
grow  great  and  prosper  by  passing  occa- 
sions ;  and  when  the  lode  comes  to  an  end, 
and  the  miners  move  elsewhere,  the  town 
remains  behind  them,  like  Palmyra  in  the 
desert.  I  suppose  there  are,  in  no  country 
4 


50  The  Silverado  Squatters 

in  the  world,  so  many  deserted  towns  as 
here  in  California. 

The  whole  neighbourhood  of  Mount 
Saint  Helena,  now  so  quiet  and  sylvan,  was 
once  alive  with  mining  camps  and  villages. 
Here  there  would  be  two  thousand  souls 
under  canvas ;  there  one  thousand  or  fif- 
teen hundred  ensconced,  as  if  for  ever,  in 
a  town  of  comfortable  houses.  But  the 
luck  had  failed,  the  mines  petered  out  ;  and 
the  army  of  miners  had  departed,  and  left 
this  quarter  of  the  world  to  the  rattlesnakes 
and  deer  and  grizzlies,  and  to  the  slower 
but  steadier  advance  of  husbandry. 

It  was  with  an  eye  on  one  of  these 
deserted  places,  Pine  Flat,  on  the  Geysers 
road,  that  we  had  come  first  to  Calistoga. 
There  is  something  singularly  enticing  in 
the  idea  of  going,  rent-free,  into  a  ready- 
made  house.  And  to  the  British  merchant, 
sitting  at  home  at  ease,  it  may  appear  that, 
with  such  a  roof  over  your  head  and  a 
spring  of  clear  water  hard  by,  the  whole 
problem  of  the  squatter's  existence  would 
be  solved.     Food,  however,  has  yet  to  be 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     51 

considered.  I  will  go  as  far  as  most  people 
on  tinned  meats ;  some  of  the  brightest 
moments  of  my  life  were  passed  over 
tinned  mulligatawney  in  the  cabin  of  a 
sixteen-ton  schooner,  storm-stayed  in  Por- 
tree Bay  ;  but  after  suitable  experiments,  I 
pronounce  authoritatively  that  man  cannot 
live  by  tins  alone.  Fresh  meat  must  be 
had  on  an  occasion.  It  is  true  that  the 
great  Foss,  driving  by  along  the  Geysers 
road,  wooden-faced,  but  glorified  with 
legend,  might  have  been  induced  to  bring 
us  meat,  but  the  great  Foss  could  hardly 
bring  us  milk.  To  take  a  cow  would  have 
involved  taking  a  field  of  grass  and  a  milk- 
maid ;  after  which  it  would  have  been 
hardly  worth  while  to  pause,  and  we  might 
have  added  to  our  colony  a  flock  of  sheep 
and  an  experienced  butcher. 

It  is  really  very  disheartening  how  we 
depend  on  other  people  in  this  life.  "  Mihi 
est  propositum,"  as  you  may  see  by  the 
motto,  "  id  quod  regibus  ;  "  and  behold  it 
cannot  be  carried  out,  unless  I  find  a  neigh- 
bour rolling  in  cattle. 


52  The  Silverado  Squatters 

Now,  my  principal  adviser  in  this  matter 
was   one  whom   I  will  call  Kelmar.     That 
was   not   what    he    called    himself,    but   as 
soon   as  I   set  eyes  on  him,  I  knew  it  was 
*  or  ought  to  be  his  name  ;  I  am  sure  it  will 
be  his  name    among   the  angels.     Kelmar 
was  the  store-keeper,  a  Russian  Jew,  good- 
natured,    in    a  very   thriving   way    of    busi- 
ness, and,  on  equal  terms,  one  of  the  most 
serviceable    of   men.     He    also    had    some- 
thing of  the  expression  of  a  Scotch  country 
elder,    who,    by    some    peculiarity,    should 
chance  to  be  a  Hebrew.      He  had   a  pro- 
jecting under  lip,  with  which  he  continually 
smiled,   or    rather    smirked.     Mrs.    Kelmar 
was    a    singularly    kind    woman  ;    and    the 
oldest  son  had  quite  a  dark  and  romantic 
bearing,  and   might   be   heard    on   summer 
evenings  playing  sentimental  airs   on   the 
violin. 

I  had  no  idea,  at  the  time  I  made  his 
acquaintance,  what  an  important  person 
Kelmar  was.  But  the  Jew  store-keepers 
of  California,  profiting  at  once  by  the 
needs    and    habits    of    the    people,    have 


m 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     53 

made  themselves  in  too  many  cases  the 
tyrants  of  the  rural  population.  Credit  is 
offered,  is  pressed  on  the  new  customer, 
and  when  once  he  is  beyond  his  depth,  the 
tune  changes,  and  he  is  from  thenceforth 
a  white  slave.  I  believe,  even  from  the 
little  I  saw,  that  Kelmar,  if  he  choose  to 
put  on  the  screw,  could  send  half  the 
settlers  packing  in  a  radius  of  seven  or 
eight  miles  round  Calistoga.  These  are 
continually  paying  him,  but  are  never 
suffered  to  get  out  of  debt.  He  palms 
dull  goods  upon  them,  for  they  dare  not 
refuse  to  buy  ;  he  goes  and  dines  with 
them  when  he  is  on  an  outing,  and  no 
man  is  loudlier  welcomed  ;  he  is  their 
family  friend,  the  director  of  their  business, 
and,  to  a  degree  elsewhere  unknown  in 
modern   days,  their  king. 

For  some  reason,  Kelmar  always  shook 
his  head  at  the  mention  of  Pine  Flat,  and 
for  some  days  I  thought  he  disapproved 
of  the  whole  scheme  and  was  proportion- 
ately sad.  One  fine  morning,  however, 
he  met   me,  wreathed  in   smiles.     He  had 


54  The  Silverado  Squatters 

found  the  very  place  for  me — Silverado, 
another  old  mining  town,  right  up  the 
mountain.  Rufe  Hanson,  the  hunter, 
could  take  care  of  us — fine  people  the 
Hansons  ;  we  should  be  close  to  the  Toll 
House,  where  the  Lakeport  stage  called 
daily  ;  it  was  the  best  place  for  my  health, 
besides.  Rufe  had  been  consumptive,  and 
was  now  quite  a  strong  man,  ain't  it  ?  In 
short,  the  place  and  all  its  accompaniments 
seemed  made  for  us  on  purpose. 

He  took  me  to  his  back  door,  whence, 
as  from  every  point  of  Calistoga,  Mount 
Saint  Helena  could  be  seen  towering  in 
the  air.  There,  in  the  nick,  just  where 
the  eastern  foothills  joined  the  mountain, 
and  she  herself  began  to  rise  above  the 
zone  of  forest — there  was  Silverado.  The 
name  had  already  pleased  me  ;  the  high 
station  pleased  me  still  more.  I  began  to 
inquire  with  some  eagerness.  It  was  but 
a  little  while  ago  that  Silverado  was  a 
great  place.  The  mine — a  silver  mine,  of 
course — had  promised  great  things.  There 
was  quite  a  lively  population,  with  several 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     55 

hotels  and  boarding-houses ;  and  Kelmar 
himself  had  opened  a  branch  store,  and 
done  extremely  well — "  Ain't  it  ?  "  he  said, 
appealing  to  his  wife.  And  she  said,  "Yes; 
extremely  well."  Now  there  was  no  one 
living  in  the  town  but  Rufe  the  hunter  ; 
and  once  more  I  heard  Rufe's  praises  by 
the  yard,  and  this  time  sung  in  chorus. 

I  could  not  help  perceiving  at  the  time 
that  there  was  something  underneath  ;  that 
no  unmixed  desire  to  have  us  comfortably 
settled  had  inspired  the  Kelmars  with  this 
flow  of  words.  But  I  was  impatient  to  be 
gone,  to  be  about  my  kingly  project  ;  and 
when  we  were  offered  seats  in  Kelmar's 
waggon,  I  accepted  on  the  spot.  The  plan 
of  their  next  Sunday's  outing  took  them, 
by  good  fortune,  over  the  border  into  Lake 
County.  They  would  carry  us  so  far,  drop 
us  at  the  Toll  House,  present  us  to  the 
Hansons,  and  call  for  us  again  on  Monday 
morning  early. 


WITH  THE  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL 

II 

FIRST   IMPRESSIONS  OF  SILVERADO 

\X/E  were  to  leave  by  six  precisely  ;  that 
was  solemnly  pledged  on  both  sides  ; 
and  a  messenger  came  to  us  the  last  thing 
at  night,  to  remind  us  of  the  hour.  But  it 
was  eight  before  we  got  clear  of  Calistoga  : 
Kelmar,  Mrs.  Kelmar,  a  friend  of  theirs 
whom  we  named  Abramina,  her  little 
daughter,  my  wife,  myself,  and,  stowed 
away  behind  us,  a  cluster  of  ship's  coffee- 
kettles.  These  last  were  highly  orna- 
mental in  the  sheen  of  their  bright  tin, 
but  I  could  invent  no  reason  for  their 
presence.  Our  carriageful  reckoned  up, 
as  near  as  we  could  get  at  it,  some  three 
hundred  years  to  the   six  of  us.     Four  of 


With  the   Children  of  Israel     57 

the  six,  besides,  were  Hebrews.  But  I 
never,  in  all  my  life,  was  conscious  of  so 
strong  an  atmosphere  of  holiday.  No 
word  was  spoken  but  of  pleasure ;  and 
even  when  we  drove  in  silence,  nods  and 
smiles  went  round  the  party  like  refresh- 
ments. 

The  sun  shone  out  of  a  cloudless  sky. 
Close  at  the  zenith  rode  the  belated  moon, 
still  clearly  visible,  and,  along  one  margin, 
even  bright.  The  wind  blew  a  gale  from 
the  north  ;  the  trees  roared  ;  the  corn  and 
the  deep  grass  in  the  valley  fled  in  whiten- 
ing surges  ;  the  dust  towered  into  the  air 
along  the  road  and  dispersed  like  the 
smoke  of  battle.  It  was  clear  in  our  teeth 
from  the  first,  and  for  all  the  windings  of 
the  road  it  managed  to  keep  clear  in  our 
teeth  until  the  end. 

For  some  two  miles  we  rattled  through 
the  valley,  skirting  the  eastern  foothills  ; 
then  we  struck  off  to  the  right,  through 
haugh-land,  and  presently,  crossing  a  dry 
water-course,  entered  the  Toll  road,  or,  to 
be   more    local,  entered    on    "  the   grade." 


58  The  Silverado  Squatters 

The  road  mounts  the  near  shoulder  of 
Mount  Saint  Helena,  bound  northward 
into  Lake  County.  In  one  place  it  skirts 
along  the  edge  of  a  narrow  and  deep  can- 
yon, filled  with  trees,  and  I  was  glad,  in- 
deed, not  to  be  driven  at  this  point  by  the 
dashing  Foss.  Kelmar,  with  his  unvarying 
smile,  jogging  to  the  motion  of  the  trap, 
drove  for  all  the  world  like  a  good,  plain, 
country  clergyman  at  home  ;  and  I  profess 
I  blessed  him  unawares  for  his  timidity. 

Vineyards  and  deep  meadows,  islanded 
and  framed  with  thicket,  gave  place  more 
and  more  as  we  ascended  to  woods  of 
oak  and  madrona,  dotted  with  enormous 
pines.  It  was  these  pines,  as  they  shot 
above  the  lower  wood,  that  produced  that 
pencilling  of  single  trees  I  had  so  often 
remarked  from  the  valley.  Thence,  looking 
up  and  from  however  far,  each  fir  stands 
separate  against  the  sky  no  bigger  than 
an  eyelash  ;  and  all  together  lend  a  quaint, 
fringed  aspect  to  the  hills.  The  oak  is  no 
baby  ;  even  the  madrona,  upon  these  spurs 
of    Mount   Saint   Helena,  comes  to  a  fine 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     59 

bulk  and  ranks  with  forest  trees ;  but  the 
pines  look  down  upon  the  rest  for  under- 
wood. As  Mount  Saint  Helena  among  her 
foot-hills,  so  these  dark  giants  out-top  their 
fellow-vegetables.  Alas  !  if  they  had  left 
the  redwoods,  the  pines,  in  turn,  would 
have  been  dwarfed.  But  the  redwoods, 
fallen  from  their  high  estate,  are  serving  as 
family  bedsteads,  or  yet  more  humbly  as 
field  fences,  along  all  Napa  Valley. 
/  A  rough  smack  of  resin  was  in  the  air, 
and  a  crystal  mountain  purity.  It  came 
pouring  over  these  green  slopes  by  the 
oceanful.  The  woods  sang  aloud,  and  gave 
largely  of  their  healthful  breath.  Gladness 
seemed  to  inhabit  these  upper  zones,  and 
we  had  left  indifference  behind  us  in  the 
valley.  "  I  to  the  hills  will  lift  mine 
eyes  !  "  There  are  days  in  a  life  when  thus 
to  climb  out  of  the  lowlands,  seems  like 
scaling  heaven. 

As  we  continued  to  ascend,  the  wind  fell 
upon  us  with  increasing  strength.  It  was 
a  wonder  how  the  two  stout  horses  man- 
aged to  pull  us  up  that  steep  incline  and 


60  The  Silverado  Squatters 

still  face  the  athletic  opposition  of  the 
wind,  or  how  their  great  eyes  were  able  to 
endure  the  dust.  Ten  minutes  after  we 
went  by,  a  tree  fell,  blocking  the  road ;  and 
even  before  us  leaves  were  thickly  strewn, 
and  boughs  had  fallen,  large  enough  to 
make  the  passage  difficult.  But  now  we 
were  hard  by  the  summit.  The  road 
crosses  the  ridge,  just  in  the  nick  that 
Kelmar  showed  me  from  below,  and  then, 
without  pause,  plunges  down  a  deep, 
thickly  wooded  glen  on  the  farther  side. 
At  the  highest  point  a  trail  strikes  up  the 
main  hill  to  the  leftward  ;  and  that  leads 
to  Silverado.  A  hundred  yards  beyond, 
and  in  a  kind  of  elbow  of  the  glen,  stands 
the  Toll  House  Hotel.  We  came  up  the 
one  side,  were  caught  upon  the  summit  by 
the  whole  weight  of  the  wind  as  it  poured 
over  into  Napa  Valley,  and  a  minute  after 
had  drawn  up  in  shelter,  but  all  buffetted 
and  breathless,  at  the  Toll  House  door. 

A  water-tank,  and  stables,  and  a  gray 
house  of  two  stories,  with  gable  ends  and 
a  verandah,  are  jammed  hard  against  the 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     61 

hillside,  just  where  a  stream  has  cut  for 
itself  a  narrow  canyon,  filled  with  pines. 
The  pines  go  right  up  overhead  ;  a  little 
more  and  the  stream  might  have  played, 
like  a  fire-hose,  on  the  Toll  House  roof. 
In  front  the  ground  drops  as  sharply  as  it 
rises  behind.  There  is  just  room  for  the 
road  and  a  sort  of  promontory  of  croquet 
ground,  and  then  you  can  lean  over  the 
edge  and  look  deep  below  you  through  the 
wood.  I  said  croquet  ground,  not  green  ; 
for  the  surface  was  of  brown,  beaten  earth. 
The  toll-bar  itself  was  the  only  other  note 
of  originality :  a  long  beam,  turning  on 
a  post,  and  kept  slightly  horizontal  by  a 
counterweight  of  stones.  Regularly  about 
sundown  this  rude  barrier  was  swung,  like 
a  derrick,  across  the  road  and  made  fast,  I 
think,  to  a  tree  upon  the  farther  side. 

On  our  arrival  there  followed  a  gay  scene 
in  the  bar.  I  was  presented  to  Mr.  Corwin, 
the  landlord  ;  to  Mr.  Jennings,  the  engineer, 
who  lives  there  for  his  health;  to  Mr. 
Hoddy,  a  most  pleasant  little  gentleman, 
once   a   member   of   the    Ohio   legislature, 


62  The  Silverado  Squatters 

again  the  editor  of  a  local  paper,  and  now, 
with  undiminished  dignity,  keeping  the 
Toll  House  bar.  I  had  a  number  of  drinks 
and  cigars  bestowed  on  me,  and  enjoyed  a 
famous  opportunity  of  seeing  Kelmar  in 
his  glory,  friendly,  radiant,  smiling,  steadily 
edging  one  of  the  ship's  kettles  on  the 
reluctant  Corwin.  Corwin,  plainly  aghast, 
resisted  gallantly,  and  for  that  bout  victory 
crowned  his  arms. 

At  last  we  set  forth  for  Silverado  on 
foot.  Kelmar  and  his  jolly  Jew  girls  were 
full  of  the  sentiment  of  Sunday  outings, 
breathed  geniality  and  vagueness,  and  suf- 
fered a  little  vile  boy  from  the  hotel  to 
lead  them  here  and  there  about  the  woods. 
For  three  people  all  so  old,  so  bulky  in 
body,  and  belonging  to  a  race  so  venerable, 
they  could  not  but  surprise  us  by  their  ex- 
treme and  almost  imbecile  youthfulness  of 
spirit.  They  were  only  going  to  stay  ten 
minutes  at  the  Toll  House  ;  had  they  not 
twenty  long  miles  of  road  before  them  on 
the  other  side?  Stay  to  dinner?  Not 
they !     Put   up   the  horses  ?     Never.     Let 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     63 

us  attach  them  to  the  verandah  by  a  wisp 
of  straw  rope,  such  as  would  not  have  held 
a  person's  hat  on  that  blustering  day.  And 
with  all  these  protestations  of  hurry,  they 
proved  irresponsible  like  children.  Kelmar 
himself,  shrewd  old  Russian  Jew,  with  a 
smirk  that  seemed  just  to  have  concluded 
a  bargain  to  its  satisfaction,  intrusted  him- 
self and  us  devoutly  to  that  boy.  Yet  the 
boy  was  patently  fallacious  ;  and  for  that 
matter  a  most  unsympathetic  urchin,  raised 
apparently  on  gingerbread.  He  was  bent 
on  his  own  pleasure,  nothing  else  ;  and 
Kelmar  followed  him  to  his  ruin,  with  the 
same  shrewd  smirk.  If  the  boy  said  there 
was  "  a  hole  there  in  the  hill  " — a  hole, 
pure  and  simple,  neither  more  nor  less — 
Kelmar  and  his  Jew  girls  would  follow 
him  a  hundred  yards  to  look  complacently 
down  that  hole.  For  two  hours  we  looked 
for  houses  ;  and  for  two  hours  they  fol- 
lowed us,  smelling  trees,  picking  flowers, 
foisting  false  botany  on  the  unwary.  Had 
we  taken  five,  with  that  vile  lad  to  head 
them  off  on  idle  divagations,  for  five  they 


64  The  Silverado  Squatters 

would  have  smiled  and  stumbled  through 
the  woods. 

However,  we  came  forth  at  length,  and 
as  by  accident,  upon  a  lawn,  sparse  planted 
like  an  orchard,  but  with  forest  instead  of 
fruit  trees.  That  was  the  site  of  Silverado 
mining  town.  A  piece  of  ground  was  lev- 
elled up,  where  Kelmar's  store  had  been  ; 
and  facing  that  we  saw  Rufe  Hanson's 
house,  still  bearing  on  its  front  the  legend 
Silverado  Hotel.  Not  another  sign  of  habi- 
tation. Silverado  town  had  all  been  carted 
from  the  scene  ;  one  of  the  houses  was  now 
the  school-house  far  down  the  road  ;  one 
was  gone  here,  one  there,  but  all  were  gone 
away.  It  was  now  a  sylvan  solitude,  and 
the  silence  was  unbroken  but  by  the  great, 
vague  voice  of  the  wind.  Some  days  be- 
fore our  visit,  a  grizzly  bear  had  been  sport- 
ing round  the  Hansons'  chicken-house. 

Mrs.  Hanson  was  at  home  alone,  we 
found.  Rufe  had  been  out  after  a  "  bar," 
had  risen  late,  and  was  now  gone,  it  did 
not  clearly  appear  whither.  Perhaps  he 
had  had  wind  of  Kelmar's  coming,  and  was 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     65 

now  ensconced  among  the  underwood,  or 
watching  us  from  the  shoulder  of  the 
mountain.  We,  hearing  there  were  no 
houses  to  be  had,  were  for  immediately 
giving  up  all  hopes  of  Silverado.  But  this, 
somehow,  was  not  to  Kelmar's  fancy.  He 
first  proposed  that  we  should  "  camp  some- 
veres  around,  ain't  it  ?  "  waving  his  hand 
cheerily  as  though  to  weave  a  spell  ;  and 
when  that  was  firmly  rejected,  he  decided 
that  we  must  take  up  house  with  the 
Hansons.  Mrs.  Hanson  had  been,  from 
the  first,  flustered,  subdued,  and  a  little 
pale  ;  but  from  this  proposition  she  re- 
coiled with  haggard  indignation.  So  did 
we,  who  would  have  preferred,  in  a  manner 
of  speaking,  death.  But  Kelmar  was  not 
to  be  put  by.  He  edged  Mrs.  Hanson  into 
a  corner,  where  for  a  long  time  he  threat- 
ened her  with  his  forefinger,  like  a  char- 
acter in  Dickens  ;  and  the  poor  woman, 
driven  to  her  entrenchments,  at  last  re- 
membered with  a  shriek  that  there  were 
still  some  houses  at  the  tunnel. 

Thither  we  went  ;  the  Jews,  who  should 
5 


66  The  Silverado  Sqiiatters 

already  have  been  miles  into  Lake  County, 
still  cheerily  accompanying  us.  For  about 
a  furlong  we  followed  a  good  road  along 
the  hillside  through  the  forest,  until  sud- 
denly that  road  widened  out  and  came 
abruptly  to  an  end.  A  canyon,  woody 
below,  red,  rocky,  and  naked  overhead,  was 
here  walled  across  by  a  dump  of  rolling 
stones,  dangerously  steep,  and  from  twenty 
to  thirty  feet  in  height.  A  rusty  iron 
chute  on  wooden  legs  came  flying,  like  a 
monstrous  gargoyle,  across  the  parapet. 
It  was  down  this  that  they  poured  the 
precious  ore ;  and  below  here  the  carts 
stood  to  wait  their  lading,  and  carry  it 
mill-ward  down  the  mountain. 

The  whole  canyon  was  so  entirely  blocked, 
as  if  by  some  rude  guerilla  fortification, 
that  we  could  only  mount  by  lengths  of 
wooden  ladder,  fixed  in  the  hillside.  These 
led  us  round  the  farther  corner  of  the 
dump ;  and  when  they  were  at  an  end, 
we  still  persevered  over  loose  rubble  and 
wading  deep  in  poison  oak,  till  we  struck 
a  triangular  platform,  filling  up  the  whole 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     67 

glen,  and  shut  in  on  either  hand  by  bold 
projections  of  the  mountain.  Only  in 
front  the  place  was  open  like  the  prosce- 
nium of  a  theatre,  and  we  looked  forth 
into  a  great  realm  of  air,  and  down  upon 
treetops  and  hilltops,  and  far  and  near 
on  wild  and  varied  country.  The  place 
still  stood  as  on  the  day  it  was  deserted  : 
a  line  of  iron  rails  with  a  bifurcation  ;  a 
truck  in  working  order ;  a  world  of  lumber, 
old  wood,  old  iron  ;  a  blacksmith's  forge  on 
one  side,  half  buried  in  the  leaves  of  dwarf 
madronas  ;  and  on  the  other,  an  old  brown 
wooden  house. 

Fanny  and  I  dashed  at  the  house.  It 
consisted  of  three  rooms,  and  was  so 
plastered  against  the  hill,  that  one  room 
was  right  atop  of  another,  that  the  upper 
floor  was  more  than  twice  as  large  as  the 
lower,  and  that  all  three  apartments  must 
be  entered  from  a  different  side  and  level. 
Not  a  window-sash  remained.  The  door 
of  the  lower  room  was  smashed,  and  one 
panel  hung  in  splinters.  We  entered  that, 
and  found  a  fair  amount  of  rubbish :  sand 


68  The  Silverado  Squatters 

and  gravel  that  had  been  sifted  in  there 
by  the  mountain  winds  ;  straw,  sticks,  and 
stones  ;  a  table,  a  barrel  ;  a  plate-rack  on 
the  wall ;  two  home-made  bootjacks,  signs 
of  miners  and  their  boots  ;  and  a  pair  of 
papers  pinned  on  the  boarding,  headed 
respectively  "  Funnel  No.  I,"  and  "  Funnel 
No.  2,"  but  with  the  tails  torn  away.  The 
window,  sashless  of  course,  was  choked 
with  the  green  and  sweetly  smelling  foliage 
of  a  bay ;  and  through  a  chink  in  the  floor, 
a  spray  of  poison  oak  had  shot  up  and  was 
handsomely  prospering  in  the  interior.  It 
was  my  first  care  to  cut  away  that  poison 
oak,  Fanny  standing  by  at  a  respectful 
distance.  That  was  our  first  improvement 
by  which  we  took  possession. 

The  room  immediately  above  could  only 
be  entered  by  a  plank  propped  against  the 
threshold,  along  which  the  intruder  must 
foot  it  gingerly,  clutching  for  support  to 
sprays  of  poison  oak,  the  proper  product 
of  the  country.  Herein  was,  on  either 
hand,  a  triple  tier  of  beds,  where  miners 
had   once  lain  ;    and  the    other   gable  was 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     69 

pierced  by  a  sashless  window  and  a  door- 
less  doorway  opening  on  the  air  of  heaven, 
five  feet  above  the  ground.  As  for  the 
third  room,  which  entered  squarely  from 
the  ground  level,  but  higher  up  the  hill  and 
further  up  the  canyon,  it  contained  only 
rubbish  and  the  uprights  for  another  triple 
tier  of  beds. 

The  whole  building  was  overhung  by  a 
bold,  lion-like,  red  rock.  Poison  oak,  sweet 
bay  trees,  calcanthus,  brush,  and  chaparral, 
grew  freely  but  sparsely  all  about  it.  In 
front,  in  the  strong  sunshine,  the  platform 
lay  overstrewn  with  busy  litter,  as  though 
the  labours  of  the  mine  might  begin  again 
to-morrow  in  the  morning. 

Following  back  into  the  canyon,  among 
the  mass  of  rotting  plant  and  through  the 
flowering  bushes,  we  came  to  a  great  crazy 
staging,  with  a  wry  windlass  on  the  top  ; 
and  clambering  up,  we  could  look  into  an 
open  shaft,  leading  edgeways  down  into  the 
bowels  of  the  mountain,  trickling  with 
water,  and  lit  by  some  stray  sun-gleams, 
whence  I  know  not.     In  that  quiet   place 


70  The  Silverado  Squatters 

the  still,  far-away  tinkle  of  the  water-drops 
was  loudly  audible.  Close  by,  another 
shaft  led  edgeways  up  into  the  superin- 
cumbent shoulder  of  the  hill.  It  lay  partly 
open  ;  and  sixty  or  a  hundred  feet  above 
our  head,  Ave  could  see  the  strata  propped 
apart  by  solid  wooden  wedges,  and  a  pine, 
half  undermined,  precariously  nodding  on 
the  verge.  Here  also  a  rugged,  horizon- 
tal tunnel  ran  straight  into  the  unsunned 
bowels  of  the  rock.  This  secure  angle  in 
the  mountain's  flank  was,  even  on  this  wild 
day,  as  still  as  my  lady's  chamber.  But  in 
the  tunnel  a  cold,  wet  draught  tempestu- 
ously blew.  Nor  have  I  ever  known  that 
place  otherwise  than  cold  and  windy. 

Such  was  our  first  prospect  of  Juan 
Silverado.  I  own  I  had  looked  for  some- 
thing different  :  a  clique  of  neighbourly 
houses  on  a  village  green,  we  shall  say,  all 
empty  to  be  sure,  but  swept  and  gar- 
nished ;  a  trout  stream  brawling  by;  great 
elms  or  chestnuts,  humming  with  bees  and 
nested  in  by  song-birds ;  and  the  mountains 
standing   round    about,    as    at    Jerusalem. 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     71 

Here,  mountain  and  house  and  the  old 
tools  of  industry  were  all  alike  rusty  and 
downfalling.  The  hill  was  here  wedged 
up,  and  there  poured  forth  its  bowels  in 
a  spout  of  broken  mineral  ;  man  with  his 
picks  and  powder,  and  nature  with  her  own 
great  blasting  tools  of  sun  and  rain,  labour- 
ing together  at  the  ruin  of  that  proud 
mountain.  The  view  up  the  canyon  was  a 
glimpse  of  devastation ;  dry  red  minerals 
sliding  together,  here  and  there  a  crag,  here 
and  there  dwarf  thicket  clinging  in  the 
general  glissade,  and  over  all  a  broken  out- 
line trenching  on  the  blue  of  heaven. 
Downwards  indeed,  from  our  rock  eyrie, 
we  beheld  the  greener  side  of  nature  ;  and 
the  bearing  of  the  pines  and  the  sweet 
smell  of  bays  and  nutmegs  commended 
themselves  gratefully  to  our  senses.  One 
way  and  another,  now  the  die  was  cast. 
Silverado  be  it ! 

After  we  had  got  back  to  the  Toll 
House,  the  Jews  were  not  long  of  striking 
forward.  But  I  observed  that  one  of  the 
Hanson  lads  came  down,  before   their  de- 


72  The  Silverado  Sqztatters 

parture,  and  returned  with  a  ship's  kettle. 
Happy  Hansons  !  Nor  was  it  until  after 
Kelmar  was  gone,  if  I  remember  rightly, 
that  Rufe  put  in  an  appearance  to  arrange 
the  details  of    our  installation. 

The  latter  part  of  the  day,  Fanny  and 
I  sat  in  the  verandah  of  the  Toll  House, 
utterly  stunned  by  the  uproar  of  the  wind 
among  the  trees  on  the  other  side  of  the 
valley.  Sometimes,  we  would  have  it  it 
was  like  a  sea,  but  it  was  not  various 
enough  for  that ;  and  again,  we  thought  it 
like  the  roar  of  a  cataract,  but  it  was  too 
changeful  for  the  cataract  ;  and  then  we 
would  decide,  speaking  in  sleepy  voices, 
that  it  could  be  compared  with  nothing 
but  itself.  My  mind  was  entirely  preoccu- 
pied by  the  noise.  I  hearkened  to  it  by  the 
hour,  gapingly  hearkened,  and  let  my  ciga- 
rette go  out.  Sometimes  the  wind  would 
make  a  sally  nearer  hand,  and  send  a  shrill, 
whistling  crash  among  the  foliage  on  our 
side  of  the  glen  ;  and  sometimes  a  back- 
draught  would  strike  into  the  elbow  where 
we  sat,  and  cast  the  gravel  and  torn  leaves 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     73 

into  our  faces.  But  for  the  most  part,  this 
great,  streaming  gale  passed  unweariedly 
by  us  into  Napa  Valley,  not  two  hundred 
yards  away,  visible  by  the  tossing  boughs, 
stunningly  audible,  and  yet  not  moving  a 
hair  upon  our  heads.  So  it  blew  all  night 
long  while  I  was  writing  up  my  journal, 
and  after  we  were  in  bed,  under  a  cloud- 
less, starset  heaven  ;  and  so  it  was  blowing 
still  next  morning  when  we  rose. 

It  was  a  laughable  thought  to  us,  what 
had  become  of  our  cheerful,  wandering 
Hebrews.  We  could  not  suppose  they 
had  reached  a  destination.  The  meanest 
boy  could  lead  them  miles  out  of  their 
way  to  see  a  gopher-hole.  Boys,  we  felt  to 
be  their  special  danger ;  none  others  were 
of  that  exact  pitch  of  cheerful  irrelevancy 
to  exercise  a  kindred  sway  upon  their 
minds  :  but  before  the  attractions  of  a  boy 
their  most  settled  resolutions  would  be 
wax.  We  thought  we  could  follow  in 
fancy  these  three  aged  Hebrew  truants 
wandering  in  and  out  on  hilltop  and  in 
thicket,   a  demon    boy   trotting   far  ahead, 


74  The  Silverado  Sqttaiters 

their  will-o'-the-wisp  conductor ;  and  at  last 
about  midnight,  the  wind  still  roaring  in 
the  darkness,  we  had  a  vision  of  all  three 
on  their  knees  upon  a  mountain-top  around 
a  glow-worm. 


WITH  THE  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL 

ill 

THE  RETURN 

TVIEXT  morning  we  were  up  by  half-past 
five,  according  to  agreement,  and  it 
was  ten  by  the  clock  before  our  Jew  boys 
returned  to  pick  us  up :  Kelmar,  Mrs.  Kel- 
mar,  and  Abramina,  all  smiling  from  ear  to 
ear,  and  full  of  tales  of  the  hospitality  they 
had  found  on  the  other  side.  It  had  not 
gone  unrewarded  ;  for  I  observed  with  in- 
terest that  the  ship's  kettles,  all  but  one, 
had  been  "  placed."  Three  Lake  County 
families,  at  least,  endowed  for  life  with  a 
ship's  kettle.  Come,  this  was  no  misspent 
Sunday.  The  absence  of  the  kettles  told 
its  own  story:  our  Jews  said  nothing  about 
them  ;  but,  on  the   other  hand,   they  said 


76  The  Silvei'ado  Squatters 

many  kind  and  comely  things  about  the 
people  they  had  met.  The  two  women,  in 
particular,  had  been  charmed  out  of  them- 
selves by  the  sight  of  a  young  girl  sur- 
rounded by  her  admirers  ;  all  evening,  it 
appeared,  they  had  been  triumphing  to- 
gether in  the  girl's  innocent  successes,  and 
to  this  natural  and  unselfish  joy  they  gave 
expression  in  language  that  was  beautiful 
by  its  simplicity  and  truth. 

Take  them  for  all  in  all,  few  people  have 
done  my  heart  more  good  ;  they  seemed  so 
thoroughly  entitled  to  happiness,  and  to 
enjoy  it  in  so  large  a  measure  and  so  free 
from  after-thought ;  almost  they  persuaded 
me  to  be  a  Jew.  There  was,  indeed,  a 
chink  of  money  in  their  talk.  They  par- 
ticularly commended  people  who  were  well 
to  do.  "  He  don't  care — ain't  it  ? "  was 
their  highest  word  of  commendation  to  an 
individual  fate ;  and  here  I  seem  to  grasp 
the  root  of  their  philosophy — it  was  to  be 
free  from  care,  to  be  free  to  make  these 
Sunday  wanderings,  that  they  so  eagerly 
pursued  after  wealth ;  and  all  this  careful- 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     77 

ness  was  to  be  careless.  The  fine,  good 
humour  of  all  three  seemed  to  declare  they 
had  attained  their  end.  Yet  there  was  the 
other  side  to  it  ;  and  the  recipients  of 
kettles  perhaps  cared  greatly. 

No  sooner  had  they  returned,  than  the 
scene  of  yesterday  began  again.  The 
horses  were  not  even  tied  with  a  straw 
rope  this  time — it  was  not  worth  while ; 
and  Kelmar  disappeared  into  the  bar,  leav- 
ing them  under  a  tree  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road.  I  had  to  devote  myself.  I  stood 
under  the  shadow  of  that  tree  for,  I  sup- 
pose, hard  upon  an  hour,  and  had  not  the 
heart  to  be  angry.  Once  some  one  remem- 
bered me,  and  brought  me  out  half  a  tum- 
blerful of  the  playful,  innocuous  American 
cocktail.  I  drank  it,  and  lo  !  veins  of  liv- 
ing fire  ran  down  my  leg ;  and  then  a  focus 
of  conflagration  remained  seated  in  my 
stomach,  not  unpleasantly,  for  quarter  of 
an  hour.  I  love  these  sweet,  fiery  pangs, 
but  I  will  not  court  them.  The  bulk  of  the 
time  I  spent  in  repeating  as  much  French 
poetry  as  I  could  remember  to  the  horses, 


78  The  Silverado  Squatters 

who  seemed  to  enjoy  it  hugely.  And  now 
it  went — 

"  O  ma  vieille  Font-georges 
Ou  volent  les  rouges-gorges  :  " 

and  again,  to  a  more  trampling  measure — - 

"  Et  tout  tremble,  Irun,  CoTmbre, 
Santander,  Almoclovar, 
Sitot  qu'on  entend  le  timbre 
Des  cymbales  de  Bivar." 

The  redbreasts  and  the  brooks  of  Europe, 
in  that  dry  and  songless  land  ;  brave  old 
names  and  wars,  strong  cities,  cymbals,  and 
bright  armour,  in  that  nook  of  the  moun- 
tain, sacred  only  to  the  Indian  and  the 
bear !  This  is  still  the  strangest  thing  in 
all  man's  travelling,  that  he  should  carry 
about  with  him  incongruous  memories. 
There  is  no  foreign  land  ;  it  is  the  traveller 
only  that  is  foreign,  and  now  and  again,  by 
a  flash  of  recollection,  lights  up  the  con- 
trasts of  the  earth. 

But  while  I   was  thus  wandering  in  my 
fancy,  great   feats  had    been   transacted  in 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     79 

the  bar.  Corwin  the  bold  had  fallen,  Kel- 
mar  was  again  crowned  with  laurels,  and 
the  last  of  the  ship's  kettles  had  changed 
hands.  If  I  had  ever  doubted  the  purity 
of  Kelmar's  motives,  if  I  had  ever  sus- 
pected him  of  a  single  eye  to  business  in 
his  eternal  dallyings,  now  at  least,  when  the 
last  kettle  was  disposed  of,  my  suspicions 
must  have  been  allayed.  I  dare  not  guess 
how  much  more  time  was  wasted  ;  nor  how 
often  we  drove  off,  merely  to  drive  back 
again  and  renew  interrupted  conversations 
about  nothing,  before  the  Toll  House  was 
fairly  left  behind.  Alas !  and  not  a  mile 
down  the  grade  there  stands  a  ranche  in  a 
sunny  vineyard,  and  here  we  must  all  dis- 
mount again  and  enter. 

Only  the  old  lady  was  at  home,  Mrs. 
Guele,  a  brown  old  Swiss  dame,  the  picture 
of  honesty  ;  and  with  her  we  drank  a  bottle 
of  wine  and  had  an  age-long  conversation, 
which  would  have  been  highly  delightful  if 
Fanny  and  I  had  not  been  faint  with  hun- 
ger. The  ladies  each  narrated  the  story  of 
her  marriage,  our  two   Hebrews  with  the 


8o  The  Silverado  Squatters 

prettiest  combination  of  sentiment  and 
financial  bathos.  Abramina,  specially,  en- 
deared herself  with  every  word.  She  was  as 
simple,  natural,  and  engaging  as  a  kid  that 
should  have  been  brought  up  to  the  busi- 
ness of  a  money-changer.  One  touch  was 
so  resplendently  Hebraic  that  I  cannot  pass 
it  over.  When  her  "  old  man  "  wrote  home 
for  her  from  America,  her  old  man's  family 
would  not  intrust  her  with  the  money  for 
the  passage,  till  she  had  bound  herself  by 
an  oath — on  her  knees,  I  think  she  said — 
not  to  employ  it  otherwise.  This  had 
tickled  Abramina  hugely,  but  I  think  it 
tickled  me   fully  more. 

Mrs.  Guele  told  of  her  home-sickness  up 
here  in  the  long  winters ;  of  her  honest, 
country-woman  troubles  and  alarms  upon 
the  journey  ;  how  in  the  bank  at  Frank- 
fort she  had  feared  lest  the  banker,  after 
having  taken  her  cheque,  should  deny  all 
knowledge  of  it — a  fear  I  have  myself 
every  time  I  go  to  a  bank ;  and  how  cross- 
ing the  Luneburger  Heath,  an  old  lady, 
witnessing  her  trouble  and  finding  whither 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     81 

she  was  bound,  had  given  her  "  the  bless- 
ing of  a  person  eighty  years  old,  which 
would  be  sure  to  bring  her  safely  to  the 
States.  And  the  first  thing  I  did,"  added 
Mrs.  Guele,  "  was  to  fall  downstairs." 

At  length  we  got  out  of  the  house,  and 
some  of  us  into  the  trap,  when — judgment 
of  Heaven  ! — here  came  Mr.  Guele  from  his 
vineyard.  So  another  quarter  of  an  hour 
went  by;  till  at  length,  at  our  earnest 
pleading,  we  set  forth  again  in  earnest, 
Fanny  and  I  white-faced  and  silent,  but  the 
Jews  still  smiling.  The  heart  fails  me. 
There  was  yet  another  stoppage  !  And  we 
drove  at  last  into  Calistoga  past  two  in  the 
afternoon,  Fanny  and  I  having  breakfasted 
at  six  in  the  morning,  eight  mortal  hours 
before.  We  were  a  pallid  couple  ;  but  still 
the  Jews  were  smiling. 

So  ended  our  excursion  with  the  village 
usurers ;  and,  now  that  it  was  done,  we 
had  no  more  idea  of  the  nature  of  the 
business,  nor  of  the  part  we  had  been  play- 
ing in  it,  than  the  child  unborn.  That  all 
the  people  we  had  met  were  the  slaves  of 


82  The  Silverado  Squatters 

Kelmar,  though  in  various  degrees  of  servi- 
tude ;  that  we  ourselves  had  been  sent  up 
the  mountain  in  the  interests  of  none  but 
Kelmar  ;  that  the  money  we  laid  out,  dollar 
by  dollar,  cent  by  cent,  and  through  the 
hands  of  various  intermediaries,  should  all 
hop  ultimately  into  Kelmar's  till  ; — these 
were  facts  that  we  only  grew  to  recognize 
in  the  course  of  time  and  by  the  accumula- 
tion of  evidence.  At  length  all  doubt  was 
quieted,  when  one  of  the  kettle-holders 
confessed.  Stopping  his  trap  in  the  moon- 
light, a  little  way  out  of  Calistoga,  he  told 
me,  in  so  many  words,  that  he  dare  not 
show  face  there  with  an  empty  pocket. 
"You  see,  I  don't  mind  if  it  was  only  five 
dollars,  Mr.  Stevens,"  he  said,  "  but  I  must 
give  Mr.  Kelmar  something? 

Even  now,  when  the  whole  tyranny  is 
plain  to  me,  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
be  as  angry  as  perhaps  I  should  be  with 
the  Hebrew  tyrant.  The  whole  game  of 
business  is  beggar  my  neighbour ;  and 
though  perhaps  that  game  looks  uglier 
when  played  at  such  close  quarters  and  on 


With  the  Children  of  Israel     83 

so  small  a  scale,  it  is  none  the  more  intrin- 
sically inhumane  for  that.  The  village 
usurer  is  not  so  sad  a  feature  of  humanity 
and  human  progress  as  the  millionaire 
manufacturer,  fattening  on  the  toil  and 
loss  of  thousands,  and  yet  declaiming  from 
the  platform  against  the  greed  and  dis- 
honesty of  landlords.  If  it  were  fair  for 
Cobden  to  buy  up  land  from  owners  whom 
he  thought  unconscious  of  its  proper  value, 
it  was  fair  enough  for  my  Russian  Jew  to 
give  credit  to  his  farmers.  Kelmar,  if  he 
was  unconscious  of  the  beam  in  his  own 
eye,  was  at  least  silent  in  the  matter  of  his 
brother's  mote. 


THE  ACT  OF  SQUATTING 


THE  ACT   OF  SQUATTING 

'"FHERE  were  four  of  us  squatters — my- 
self and  my  wife,  the  King  and  Queen 
of  Silverado  ;  Sam,  the  Crown  Prince ; 
and  Chuchu,  the  Grand  Duke.  Chuchu,  a 
setter  crossed  with  spaniel,  was  the  most 
unsuited  for  a  rough  life.  He  had  been 
nurtured  tenderly  in  the  society  of  ladies  ; 
his  heart  was  large  and  soft  ;  he  regarded 
the  sofa-cushion  as  a  bed-rock  necessary  of 
existence.  Though  about  the  size  of  a 
sheep,  he  loved  to  sit  in  ladies'  laps  ;  he 
never  said  a  bad  word  in  all  his  blameless 
days  ;  and  if  he  had  seen  a  flute,  I  am 
sure  he  could  have  played  upon  it  by 
nature.  It  may  seem  hard  to  say  it  of  a 
dog,  but  Chuchu  was  a  tame  cat. 

The  king  and  queen,  the  grand  duke,  and 
a  basket  of  cold  provender  for  immediate 


88  The  Silverado  Squatters 

use,  set  forth  from  Calistoga  in  a  double 
buggy  ;  the  crown  prince,  on  horseback, 
led  the  way  like  an  outrider.  Bags  and 
boxes  and  a  second-hand  stove  were  to 
follow  close  upon  our  heels  by  Hanson's 
team. 

It  was  a  beautiful  still  day  ;  the  sky  was 
one  field  of  azure.  Not  a  leaf  moved,  not 
a  speck  appeared  in  heaven.  Only  from 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  one  little 
snowy  wisp  of  cloud  after  another  kept 
detaching  itself,  like  smoke  from  a  vol- 
cano, and  blowing  southward  in  some  high 
stream  of  air:  Mount  Saint  Helena  still  at 
her  interminable  task,  making  the  weather, 
like  a  Lapland  witch. 

By  noon  we  had  come  in  sight  of  the 
mill :  a  great  brown  building,  half-way  up 
the  hill,  big  as  a  factory,  two  stories  high, 
and  with  tanks  and  ladders  along  the  roof ; 
which,  as  a  pendicle  of  Silverado  mine,  we 
held  to  be  an  outlying  province  of  our  own. 
Thither,  then,  we  went,  crossing  the  valley 
by  a  grassy  trail  ;  and  there  lunched  out  of 
the  basket,  sitting  in  a  kind  of  portico,  and 


The  Act  of  Squatting  89 

wondering,  while  we  ate,  at  this  great  bulk 
of  useless  building.  Through  a  chink  we 
could  look  far  down  into  the  interior,  and 
see  sunbeams  floating  in  the  dust  and  strik- 
ing on  tier  after  tier  of  silent,  rusty  ma- 
chinery. It  cost  six  thousand  dollars, 
twelve  hundred  English  sovereigns ;  and 
now,  here  it  stands  deserted,  like  the  tem- 
ple of  a  forgotten  religion,  the  busy  millers 
toiling  somewhere  else.  All  the  time  we 
were  there,  mill  and  mill  town  showed  no 
sign  of  life ;  that  part  of  the  mountain-side, 
which  is  very  open  and  green,  was  tenanted 
by  no  living  creature  but  ourselves  and  the 
insects  ;  and  nothing  stirred  but  the  cloud 
manufactory  upon  the  mountain  summit. 
It  was  odd  to  compare  this  with  the  former 
days,  when  the  engine  was  in  full  blast,  the 
mill  palpitating  to  its  strokes,  and  the  carts 
came  rattling  down  from  Silverado,  charged 
with  ore. 

By  two  we  had  been  landed  at  the  mine, 
the  buggy  was  gone  again,  and  we  were 
left  to  our  own  reflections  and  the  basket 
of   cold   provender,    until    Hanson    should 


90  The  Silverado  Squatters 

arrive.  Hot  as  it  was  by  the  sun,  there 
was  something  chill  in  such  a  home-com- 
ing, in  that  world  of  wreck  and  rust,  splinter 
and  rolling  gravel,  where  for  so  many  years 
no  fire  had  smoked. 

Silverado  platform  filled  the  whole  width 
of  the  canyon.  Above,  as  I  have  said,  this 
was  a  wild,  red,  stony  gully  in  the  moun- 
tains ;  but  below  it  was  a  wooded  dingle. 
And  through  this,  I  was  told,  there  had 
gone  a  path  between  the  mine  and  the 
Toll  House — our  natural  north-west  pas- 
sage to  civilization.  I  found  and  followed 
it,  clearing  my  way  as  I  went  through  fallen 
branches  and  dead  trees.  It  went  straight 
down  that  steep  canyon,  till  it  brought  you 
out  abruptly  over  the  roofs  of  the  hotel. 
There  was  nowhere  any  break  in  the 
descent.  It  almost  seemed  as  if,  were 
you  to  drop  a  stone  down  the  old  iron 
chute  at  our  platform,  it  would  never  rest 
until  it  hopped  upon  the  Toll  House 
shingles.  Signs  were  not  wanting  of  the 
ancient  greatness  of  Silverado.  The  foot- 
path was  well  marked,  and  had  been  well 


The  Act  of  Squatting  91 

trodden  in  the  old  days  by  thirsty  miners. 
And  far  down,  buried  in  foliage,  deep  out 
of  sight  of  Silverado,  I  came  on  a  last 
outpost  of  the  mine — a  mound  of  gravel, 
some  wreck  of  wooden  aqueduct,  and  the 
mouth  of  a  tunnel,  like  a  treasure  grotto 
in  a  fairy  story.  A  stream  of  water,  fed 
by  the  invisible  leakage  from  our  shaft, 
and  dyed  red  with  cinnabar  or  iron,  ran 
trippingly  forth  out  of  the  bowels  of  the 
cave  ;  and,  looking  far  under  the  arch,  I 
could  see  something  like  an  iron  lantern 
fastened  on  the  rocky  wall.  It  was  a 
promising  spot  for  the  imagination.  No 
boy  could  have  left   it   unexplored. 

The  stream  thenceforward  stole  along 
the  bottom  of  the  dingle,  and  made,  for 
that  dry  land,  a  pleasant  warbling  in  the 
leaves.  Once,  I  suppose,  it  ran  splashing 
down  the  whole  length  of  the  canyon,  but 
now  its  head  waters  had  been  tapped  by 
the  shaft  at  Silverado,  and  for  a  great  part 
of  its  course  it  wandered  sunless  among 
the  joints  of  the  mountain.  No  wonder 
that  it  should  better  its  pace  when  it  sees, 


93  The  Silverado  Squatters 

far  before  it,  daylight  whitening  in  the  arch, 
or  that  it  should  come  trotting  forth  into 
the  sunlight  with  a  song.      ^ 

The  two  stages  had  gone  by  when  I  got 
down,  and  the  Toll  House  stood,  dozing  in 
sun  and  dust  and  silence,  like  a  place 
enchanted.  My  mission  was  after  hay  for 
bedding,  and  that  I  was  readily  promised. 
But  when  I  mentioned  that  we  were  wait- 
ing for  Rufe,  the  people  shook  their  heads. 
Rufe  was  not  a  regular  man  any  way,  it 

seemed  ;  and  if  he  got  playing  poker 

Well,  poker  was  too  many  for  Rufe.  I  had 
not  yet  heard  them  bracketted  together ; 
but  it  seemed  a  natural  conjunction,  and 
commended  itself  swiftly  to  my  fears ;  and 
as  soon  as  I  returned  to  Silverado  and  had 
told  my  story,  we  practically  gave  Hanson 
up,  and  set  ourselves  to  do  what  we  could 
find  do-able  in  our  desert-island  state.^^^ 

The  lower  room  had  been  the  assayer's 
office.  The  floor  was  thick  with  debris — 
part  human,  from  the  former  occupants ; 
part  natural,  sifted  in  by  mountain  winds. 
In  a  sea  of  red  dust  there  swam  or  floated 


The  Act  of  Squatting  93 

sticks,  boards,  hay,  straw,  stones,  and 
paper ;  ancient  newspapers,  above  all — for 
the  newspaper,  especially  when  torn,  soon 
becomes  an  antiquity — and  bills  of  the 
Silverado  boarding-house,  some  dated  Sil- 
verado, some  Calistoga  Mine.  Here  is  one, 
verbatim  ;  and  if  any  one  can  calculate 
the  scale  of  charges,  he  has  my  envious 
admiration. 

Calistoga  Mine,  May  3rd,  1875. 
John  Stanley 

To  S.  Chapman,  Cr. 
To  board  from  April  ist,  to  April  30     $25     75 
"       "  "     May  ist,  to  3rd        ...         2     00 


27     75 


Where  is  John  Stanley  mining  now  ? 
Where  is  S.  Chapman,  within  whose  hos- 
pitable walls  we  were  to  lodge  ?  The  date 
was  but  five  years  old,  but  in  that  time 
the  world  had  changed  for  Silverado  ;  like 
Palmyra  in  the  desert,  it  had  outlived  its 
people  and  its  purpose  ;  we  camped,  like 
Layard,  amid  ruins,  and  these  names  spoke 
to  us  of  pre-historic  time.     A  bootjack,  a 


94  The  Silverado  Squatters 

pair  of  boots,  a  dog-hutch,  and  these  bills 
of  Mr.  Chapman's  were  the  only  speaking 
relics  that  we  disinterred  from  all  that  vast 
Silverado  rubbish-heap  ;  but  what  would  I 
not  have  given  to  unearth  a  letter,  a  pocket- 
book,  a  diary,  only  a  ledger,  or  a  roll  of 
names,  to  take  me  back,  in  a  more  personal 
manner,  to  the  past  ?  It  pleases  me,  be- 
sides, to  fancy  that  Stanley  or  Chapman, 
or  one  of  their  companions,  may  light  upon 
this  chronicle,  and  be  struck  by  the  name, 
and  read  some  news  of  their  anterior  home, 
coming,  as  it  were,  out  of  a  subsequent 
epoch  of  history  in  that  quarter  of  the 
world. 

As  we  were  tumbling  the  mingled  rub- 
bish on  the  floor,  kicking  it  with  our  feet, 
and  groping  for  these  written  evidences  of 
the  past,  Sam,  with  a  somewhat  whitened 
face,  produced  a  paper  bag.  "  What's 
this  ?  "  said  he.  It  contained  a  granulated 
powder,  something  the  colour  of  Gregory's 
Mixture,  but  rosier ;  and  as  there  were 
several  of  the  bags,  and  each  more  or  less 
broken,  the  powder  was  spread  widely  on 


The  Act  of  Squatting  95 

the  floor.  Had  any  of  us  ever  seen  giant 
powder  ?  No,  nobody  had  ;  and  instantly 
there  grew  up  in  my  mind  a  shadowy  belief, 
verging  with  every  moment  nearer  to  certi- 
tude, that  I  had  somewhere  heard  some- 
body describe  it  as  just  such  a  powder  as 
the  one  around  us.  I  have  learnt  since 
that  it  is  a  substance  not  unlike  tallow,  and 
is  made  up  in  rolls  for  all  the  world  like 
tallow  candles. 

Fanny,  to  add  to  our  happiness,  told  us 
a  story  of  a  gentleman  who  had  camped 
one  night,  like  ourselves,  by  a  deserted 
mine.  He  was  a  handy,  thrifty  fellow,  and 
looked  right  and  left  for  plunder,  but  all 
he  could  lay  his  hands  on  was  a  can  of  oil. 
After  dark  he  had  to  see  to  the  horses 
with  a  lantern  ;  and  not  to  miss  an  oppor- 
tunity, filled  up  his  lamp  from  the  oil  can. 
Thus  equipped,  he  set  forth  into  the  forest. 
A  little  while  after,  his  friends  heard  a  loud 
explosion  ;  the  mountain  echoes  bellowed, 
and  then  all  was  still.  On  examination, 
the  can  proved  to  contain  oil,  with  the 
trifling  addition  of  nitro-glycerine  ;  but  no 


96  The  Silverado  Squatters 

research  disclosed  a  trace  of  either  man  or 
lantern. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight,  after  this  anecdote, 
to  see  us  sweeping  out  the  giant  powder. 
It  seemed  never  to  be  far  enough  away. 
And,  after  all,  it  was  only  some  rock 
pounded  for  assay.     ^ 

So  much  for  the  lower  room.  We  scraped 
some  of  the  rougher  dirt  off  the  floor,  and 
left  it.  That  was  our  sitting-room  and 
kitchen,  though  there  was  nothing  to  sit 
upon  but  the  table,  and  no  provision  for  a 
fire  except  a  hole  in  the  roof  of  the  room 
above,  which  had  once  contained  the  chim- 
ney of  a  stove. 

To  that  upper  room  we  now  proceeded. 
There  were  the  eighteen  bunks  in  a  double 
tier,  nine  on  either  hand,  where  from 
eighteen  to  thirty-six  miners  had  once 
snored  together  all  night  long,  John  Stan- 
ley, perhaps,  snoring  loudest.  There  was 
the  roof,  with  a  hole  in  it  through  which 
the  sun  now  shot  an  arrow.  There  was  the 
floor,  in  much  the  same  state  as  the  one 
below,    though,    perhaps,    there    was    more 


The  Act  of  Squatting  97 

hay,  and  certainly  there  was  the  added 
ingredient  of  broken  glass,  the  man  who 
stole  the  window-frames  having  apparently 
made  a  miscarriage  with  this  one.  With- 
out a  broom,  without  hay  or  bedding, 
we  could  but  look  about  us  with  a  begin- 
ning of  despair.  The  one  bright  arrow  of 
day,  in  that  gaunt  and  shattered  barrack, 
made  the  rest  look  dirtier  and  darker,  and 
the  sight  drove  us  at  last  into  the  open. 

Here,  also,  the  handiwork  of  man  lay 
ruined  :  but  the  plants  were  all  alive  and 
thriving  ;  the  view  below  was  fresh  with 
the  colours  of  nature  ;  and  we  had  ex- 
changed a  dim,  human  garret  for  a  corner, 
even  although  it  were  untidy,  of  the  blue 
hall  of  heaven.  Not  a  bird,  not  a  beast, 
not  a  reptile.  There  was  no  noise  in  that 
part  of  the  world,  save  when  we  passed 
beside  the  staging,  and  heard  the  water 
musically  falling  in  the  shaft. 

We  wandered  to  and  fro.     We  searched 

among  that  drift  of  lumber — wood  and  iron, 

nails  and  rails,  and  sleepers  and  the  wheels 

of  trucks.     We  gazed  up  the  cleft  into  the 

7 


98  The  Silverado  Squatters 

bosom  of  the  mountain.  We  sat  by  the 
margin  of  the  dump  and  saw,  far  below  us, 
the  green  treetops  standing  still  in  the 
clear  air.  Beautiful  perfumes,  breaths  of 
bay,  resin,  and  nutmeg,  came  to  us  more 
often  and. grew  sweeter  and  sharper  as  the 
afternoon  declined.  But  still  there  was  no 
word  of  Hanson. 

I  set  to  with  pick  and  shovel,  and 
deepened  the  pool  behind  the  shaft,  till 
we  were  sure  of  sufficient  water  for  the 
morning;  and  by  the  time  I  had  finished, 
the  sun  had  begun  to  go  down  behind 
the  mountain  shoulder,  the  platform  was 
plunged  in  quiet  shadow,  and  a  chill  de- 
scended from  the  sky.  Night  began  early 
in  our  cleft.  Before  us,  over  the  margin 
of  the  dump,  we  could  see  the  sun  still 
striking  aslant  into  the  wooded  nick  below, 
and  on  the  battlemented,  pine-bescattered 
ridges  on  the  farther  side. 

There  was  no  stove,  of  course,  and  no 
hearth  in  our  lodging,  so  we  betook  our- 
selves to  the  blacksmith's  forge  across  the 
platform.     If  the  platform   be  taken   as  a 


The  Act  of  Squatting  99 

stage,   and  the  out-curving  margin  of   the 
dump    to    represent    the    line   of   the   foot- 
lights, then   our  house  would   be   the   first 
wing  on    the  actor's    left,   and    this    black- 
smith's forge,  although  no  match  for  it  in 
size,  the  foremost  on  the  right.     It  was  a 
low,  brown   cottage,   planted  close  against 
the  hill,  and  overhung  by  the  foliage  and 
peeling    boughs    of     a    madrona    thicket. 
Within     it    was    full    of    dead    leaves    and 
mountain  dust,  and  rubbish  from  the  mine. 
But  we  soon  had  a  good  fire  brightly  blaz- 
ing, and  sat  close  about  it   on  impromptu 
seats.     Chuchu,  the  slave  of  sofa-cushions, 
whimpered  for  a  softer  bed  ;  but  the  rest 
of  us  were  greatly  revived  and  comforted 
by    that    good    creature — fire,  which    gives 
us  warmth    and    light    and    companionable 
sounds,     and     colours     up     the     emptiest 
building   with   better   than    frescoes.     For 
a  while  it  was  even  pleasant  in  the  forge, 
with  the    blaze    in   the    midst,  and    a  look 
over    our    shoulders    on    the   woods    and 
mountains  where    the  day  was  dying  like 
a  dolphin. 


ioo         The  Silverado  Sqttatters 

It  was  between   seven   and  eight  before 
Hanson   arrived,  with  a  waggonful  of   our 
effects  and   two  of   his  wife's  relatives   to 
lend  him  a  hand.     The  elder  showed  sur- 
prising   strength.      He   would    pick    up    a 
huge    packing-case,    full  *of    books    of    all 
things,  swing  it  on  his  shoulder,  and  away 
up  the  two   crazy  ladders  and  the  break- 
neck   spout    of    rolling    mineral,    familiarly 
termed    a   path,    that    led    from    the    cart- 
track  to  our  house.     Even  for  a  man  un- 
burthened,    the    ascent    was    toilsome   and 
precarious ;  but  Irvine  scaled  it  with  a  light 
foot,  carrying  box  after  box,  as  the  hero 
whisks  the  stage  child   up  the  practicable 
footway  beside  the  waterfall    of   the    fifth 
act.     With    so   strong   a  helper,    the   busi- 
ness  was    speedily   transacted.      Soon    the 
assayer's  office  was  thronged  with  our  be- 
longings, piled   higgledy-piggledy,  and   up- 
side  down,  about   the  floor.      There  were 
our  boxes,   indeed,   but   my  wife  had  left 
her    keys    in    Calistoga.      There   was    the 
stove,   but,   alas !    our  carriers   had    forgot 
the   chimney,  and   lost  one  of   the  plates 


The  Act  of  Squatting  101 

along  the  road.  The  Silverado  problem 
was  scarce  solved. 

Rufe  himself  was  grave  and  good-natured 
over  his  share  of  blame  ;  he  even,  if  I  re- 
member right,  expressed  regret.  But  his 
crew,  to  my  astonishment  and  anger, 
grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  and  laughed  aloud 
at  our  distress.  They  thought  it  "  real 
funny  "  about  the  stove-pipe  they  had  for- 
gotten ;  "  real  funny  "  that  they  should  have 
lost  a  plate.  As  for  hay,  the  whole  party 
refused  to  bring  us  any  till  they  should 
have  supped.  See  how  late  they  were ! 
Never  had  there  been  such  a  job  as  com- 
ing up  that  grade !  Nor  often,  I  suspect, 
such  a  game  of  poker  as  that  before  they 
started.  But  about  nine,  as  a  particular 
favour,  we  should  have  some  hay. 

So  they  took  their  departure,  leaving  me 
still  staring,  and  we  resigned  ourselves  to 
wait  for  their  return.  The  fire  in  the  forge 
had  been  suffered  to  go  out,  and  we  were 
one  and  all  too  weary  to  kindle  another. 
We  dined,  or,  not  to  take  that  word  in 
vain,  we  ate  after  a  fashion,  in  the  night- 


102         The  Silverado  Squatters 

mare  disorder  of  the  assayer's  office, 
perched  among  boxes.  A  single  candle 
lighted  us.  It  could  scarce  be  called  a 
house-warming  ;  for  there  was,  of  course, 
no  fire,  and  with  the  two  open  doors  and 
the  open  window  gaping  on  the  night,  like 
breaches  in  a  fortress,  it  began  to  grow 
rapidly  chill.  Talk  ceased  ;  nobody  moved 
but  the  unhappy  Chuchu,  still  in  quest  of 
sofa-cushions,  who  tumbled  complainingly 
among  the  trunks.  It  required  a  certain 
happiness  of  disposition  to  look  forward 
hopefully,  from  so  dismal  a  beginning, 
across  the  brief  hours  of  night,  to  the 
warm  shining  of  to-morrow's  sun. 

But  the  hay  arrived  at  last,  and  we 
turned,  with  our  last  spark  of  courage,  to 
the  bedroom.  We  had  improved  the  en- 
trance, but  it  was  still  a  kind  of  rope- 
walking  ;  and  it  would  have  been  droll  to 
see  us  mounting,  one  after  another,  by 
candle-light,  under  the  open  stars. 

The  western  door — that  which  looked  up 
the  canyon,  and  through  which  we  entered 
by  our   bridge   of   flying   plank — was    still 


The  Act  of  Squatting         103 

entire,  a  handsome,  panelled  door,  the 
most  finished  piece  of  carpentry  in  Sil- 
verado. And  the  two  lowest  bunks  next 
to  this  we  roughly  filled  with  hay  for  that 
night's  use.  Through  the  opposite,  or 
eastern-looking  gable,  with  its  open  door 
and  window,  a  faint,  diffused  starshine 
came  into  the  room  like  mist ;  and  when 
we  were  once  in  bed,  we  lay,  awaiting  sleep, 
in  a  haunted,  incomplete  obscurity.  At 
first  the  silence  of  the  night  was  utter. 
Then  a  high  wind  began  in  the  distance 
among  the  treetops,  and  for  hours  con- 
tinued to  grow  higher.  It  seemed  to  me 
much  such  a  wind  as  we  had  found  on  our 
visit ;  yet  here  in  our  open  chamber  we 
were  fanned  only  by  gentle  and  refreshing 
draughts,  so  deep  was  the  canyon,  so  close 
our  house  was  planted  under  the  overhang- 
ing rock. 


THE   HUNTER'S   FAMILY 


THE   HUNTER'S   FAMILY 

HTHERE  is  quite  a  large  race  or  class  of 
people  in  America,  for  whom  we 
scarcely  seem  to  have  a  parallel  in  Eng- 
land. Of  pure  white  blood,  they  are 
unknown  or  unrecognizable  in  towns ; 
inhabit  the  fringe  of  settlements  and  the 
deep,  quiet  places  of  the  country ;  rebel- 
lious to  all  labour,  and  pettily  thievish, 
like  the  English  gipsies ;  rustically  igno- 
ant,  but  with  a  touch  of  wood-lore  and 
the  dexterity  of  the  savage.  Whence  they 
came  is  a  moot  point.  At  the  time  of 
the  war,  they  poured  north  in  crowds 
to  escape  the  conscription  ;  lived  during 
summer  on  fruits,  wild  animals,  and  petty 
theft;  and  at  the  approach  of  winter, 
when  these  supplies  failed,  built  great  fires 
in  the  forest,  and  there  died    stoically  by 


io8         The  Silverado  Squatters 

starvation.      They    are    widely    scattered, 
however,  and    easily  recognized.     Loutish, 
but  not   ill-looking,   they   will    sit   all    day, 
swinging  their  legs  on    a    field    fence,    the 
mind  seemingly  as  devoid  of  all  reflection 
as  a  Suffolk  peasant's,  careless  of  politics, 
for  the  most  part  incapable  of  reading,  but 
with  a  rebellious  vanity  and  a  strong  sense 
of  independence.     Hunting   is    their  most 
congenial     business,    or,    if    the    occasion 
offers,  a  little  amateur  detection.     In  track- 
ing a  criminal,  following  a  particular  horse 
along  a  beaten  highway,  and  drawing   in- 
ductions from   a   hair   or  a    footprint,  one 
of  those  somnolent,  grinning  Hodges  will 
suddenly    display    activity    of    body    and 
finesse  of  mind.     By  their  names  ye  may 
know  them,  the  women  figuring  as  Love- 
ina,    Larsenia,    Serena,    Leanna,    Orreana; 
the    men    answering    to    Alvin,    Alva,    or 
Orion,    pronounced    Orion,    with    the    ac- 
cent    on    the     first.      Whether    they    are 
indeed    a    race,    or    whether    this    is    the 
form    of   degeneracy  common   to  all  back- 
woodsmen, they    are    at    least    known    by 


The  Hunter  s  Family  109 

a  generic  byword,  as  Poor  Whites  or  Low- 
downers. 

I  will    not  say  that    the   Hanson  family 
was  Poor  White,  because  the  name  savours 
of  offence  ;  but  I  may  go  as  far  as  this — 
they  were,  in  many  points,  not  unsimilar  to 
the  people  usually  so  called.     Rufe  himself 
combined  two  of  the  qualifications,  for  he 
was  both  a  hunter  and  an  amateur  detec- 
tive.    It  was  he  who  pursued  Russel  and 
Dollar,  the  robbers  of  the  Lakeport  stage, 
and  captured  them  the  very  morning  after 
the  exploit,  while  they  were  still  sleeping 
in  a   hayfield.     Russel,  a    drunken  Scotch 
carpenter,  was  even  an  acquaintance  of  his 
own,  and    he    expressed  much  grave  com- 
miseration for  his  fate.     In  all  that  he  said 
and  did,  Rufe  was  grave.     I  never  saw  him 
hurried.     When  he  spoke,  he  took  out  his 
pipe  with    ceremonial  deliberation,  looked 
east  and  west,  and  then,  in  quiet  tones  and 
few  words,  stated  his  business  or  told  his 
story.     His    gait  was  to  match  ;    it  would 
never  have  surprised  you  if,  at  any  step,  he 
had  turned  round  and  walked  away  again, 


no        The  Silverado  Squatters 

so  warily  and  slowly,  and  with  so  much 
seeming  hesitation  did  he  go  about.  He 
lay  long  in  bed  in  the  morning — rarely, 
indeed,  rose  before  noon  ;  he  loved  all 
games,  from  poker  to  clerical  croquet  ;  and 
in  the  Toll  House  croquet  ground  I  have 
seen  him  toiling  at  the  latter  with  the 
devotion  of  a  curate.  He  took  an  inter- 
est in  education,  was  an  active  member  of 
the  local  school-board,  and  when  I  was 
there,  he  had  recently  lost  the  school-house 
key.  His  waggon  was  broken,  but  it  never 
seemed  to  occur  to  him  to  mend  it.  Like 
all  truly  idle  people,  he  had  an  artistic  eye. 
He  chose  the  print  stuff  for  his  wife's 
dresses,  and  counselled  her  in  the  mak- 
ing of  a  patchwork  quilt,  always,  as  she 
thought,  wrongly,  but  to  the  more  edu- 
cated eye,  always  with  bizarre  and  admi- 
rable taste — the  taste  of  an  Indian.  With 
all  this,  he  was  a  perfect,  unoffending  gen- 
tleman in  word  and  act.  Take  his  clay 
pipe  from  him,  and  he  was  fit  for  any  so- 
ciety but  that  of  fools.  Quiet  as  he  was, 
there   burned    a    deep,    permanent    excite- 


The  Hunters  Family  m 

ment  in  his  dark  blue  eyes ;  and  when 
this  grave  man  smiled,  it  was  like  sunshine 
in  a  shady  place. 

Mrs.  Hanson  {nee,  if  you  please,  Love- 
lands)  was  more  commonplace  than  her 
lord.  She  was  a  comely  woman,  too, 
plump,  fair-coloured,  with  wonderful  white 
teeth  ;  and  in  her  print  dresses  (chosen  by 
Rufe)  and  with  a  large  sun-bonnet  shading 
her  valued  complexion,  made,  I  assure  you, 
a  very  agreeable  figure.  But  she  was  on 
the  surface,  what  there  was  of  her,  out- 
spoken and  loud-spoken.  Her  noisy  laugh- 
ter had  none  of  the  charm  of  one  of 
Hanson's  rare,  slow-spreading  smiles  ;  there 
was  no  reticence,  no  mystery,  no  manner 
about  the  woman :  she  was  a  first-class 
dairymaid,  but  her  husband  was  an  un- 
known quantity  between  the  savage  and 
the  nobleman.  She  was  often  in  and  out 
with  us,  merry,  and  healthy,  and  fair  ;  he 
came  far  seldomer — only,  indeed,  when 
there  was  business,  or  now  and  again,  to 
pay  a  visit  of  ceremony,  brushed  up  for  the 
occasion,  with    his  wife  on  his  arm,  and  a 


H2         The  Silverado  Sq tea  Iters 

clean  clay  pipe  in  his  teeth.  These  visits, 
in  our  forest  state,  had  quite  the  air  of  an 
event,  and  turned  our  red  canyon  into  a 
salon. 

Such  was  the  pair  who  ruled  in  the  old 
Silverado  Hotel,  among  the  windy  trees, 
on  the  mountain  shoulder  overlooking  the 
whole  length  of  Napa  Valley,  as  the  man 
aloft  looks  down  on  the  ship's  deck.  There 
they  kept  house,  with  sundry  horses  and 
fowls,  and  a  family  of  sons,  Daniel  Webster, 
and  I  think  George  Washington,  among 
the  number.  Nor  did  they  want  visitors. 
An  old  gentleman,  of  singular  stolidity,  and 
called  Breedlove — I  think  he  had  crossed 
the  plains  in  the  same  caravan  with  Rufe 
— housed  with  them  for  awhile  during  our 
stay  ;  and  they  had  besides  a  permanent 
lodger,  in  the  form  of  Mrs.  Hanson's 
brother,  Irvine  Lovelands.  I  spell  Irvine 
by  guess  ;  for  I  could  get  no  information 
on  the  subject,  just  as  I  could  never  find 
out,  in  spite  of  many  inquiries,  whether  or 
not  Rufe  was  a  contraction  for  Rufus. 
They  were  all  cheerfully  at  sea  about  their 


The  Hunters  Family  113 

names  in  that  generation.  And  this  is 
surely  the  more  notable  where  the  names 
are  all  so  strange,  and  even  the  family- 
names  appear  to  have  been  coined.  At 
one  time,  at  least,  the  ancestors  of  all  these 
Alvins  and  Alvas,  Loveinas,  Lovelands, 
and  Breedloves,  must  have  taken  serious 
council  and  found  a  certain  poetry  in  these 
denominations  ;  that  must  have  been,  then, 
their  form  of  literature.  But  still  times 
change ;  and  their  next  descendants,  the 
George  Washingtons  and  Daniel  Websters, 
will  at  least  be  clear  upon  the  point.  And 
anyway,  and  however  his  name  should  be 
spelt,  this  Irvine  Lovelands  was  the  most 
unmitigated  Caliban  I  ever  knew. 

Our  very  first  morning  at  Silverado, 
when  we  were  full  of  business,  patching 
up  doors  and  windows,  making  beds  and 
seats,  and  getting  our  rough  lodging  into 
shape,  Irvine  and  his  sister  made  their 
appearance  together,  she  for  neighbourli- 
ness and  general  curiosity;  he,  because  he 
was  working  for  me,  to  my  sorrow,  cutting 
firewood  at  I  forget  how  much  a  day.     The 


H4        The  Silverado  Squatters 

way  that  he  set  about  cutting  wood  was 
characteristic.  We  were  at  that  moment 
patching  up  and  unpacking  in  the  kitchen. 
Down  he  sat  on  one  side,  and  down  sat  his 
sister  on  the  other.  Both  were  chewing 
pine-tree  gum,  and  he,  to  my  annoyance, 
accompanied  that  simple  pleasure  with 
profuse  expectoration.  She  rattled  away, 
talking  up  hill  and  down  dale,  laughing, 
tossing  her  head,  showing  her  brilliant 
teeth.  He  looked  on  in  silence,  now  spit- 
ting heavily  on  the  floor,  now  putting  his 
head  back  and  uttering  a  loud,  discordant, 
joyless  laugh.  He  had  a  tangle  of  shock 
hair,  the  colour  of  wool  ;  his  mouth  was  a 
grin  ;  although  as  strong  as  a  horse,  he 
looked  neither  heavy  nor  yet  adroit,  only 
leggy,  coltish,  and  in  the  road.  But  it  was 
plain  he  was  in  high  spirits,  thoroughly  en- 
joying his  visit ;  and  he  laughed  frankly 
whenever  we  failed  to  accomplish  what 
we  were  about.  This  was  scarcely  help- 
ful :  it  was  even,  to  amateur  carpenters, 
embarrassing ;  but  it  lasted  until  we 
knocked  off    work    and    began  to  get  din- 


The  Hunters  Family  115 

ner.  Then  Mrs.  Hanson  remembered  she 
should  have  been  gone  an  hour  ago  ;  and 
the  pair  retired,  and  the  lady's  laughter 
died  away  among  the  nutmegs  down  the 
path.  That  was  Irvine's  first  day's  work 
in  my  employment — the  devil  take  him  !   • 

The  next  morning  he  returned  and,  as 
he  was  this  time  alone,  he  bestowed  his 
conversation  upon  us  with  great  liberality. 
He  prided  himself  on  his  intelligence  ; 
asked  us  if  we  knew  the  school-ma'am. 
He  didn't  think  much  of  her,  anyway. 
He  had  tried  her,  he  had.  He  had  put 
a  question  to  her.  If  a  tree  a  hundred 
feet  high  were  to  fall  a  foot  a  day,  how 
long  would  it  take  to  fall  right  down  ?  She 
had  not  been  able  to  solve  the  problem. 
"  She  don't  know  nothing,"  he  opined.  He 
told  us  how  a  friend  of  his  kept  a  school 
with  a  revolver,  and  chuckled  mightily  over 
that  ;  his  friend  could  teach  school,  he 
could.  All  the  time  he  kept  chewing  gum 
and  spitting.  He  would  stand  a  while 
looking  down  ;  and  then  he  would  toss 
back  his  shock  of  hair,  and  laugh  hoarsely, 


u6        The  Silverado  Squatters 

and  spit,  and  bring  forward  a  new  subject. 
A  man,  he  told  us,  who  bore  a  grudge 
against  him,  had  poisoned  his  dog.  "  That 
was  a  low  thing  for  a  man  to  do  now, 
wasn't  it  ?  It  wasn't  like  a  man,  that,  no- 
how. But  I  got  even  with  him :  I  pisoned 
his  dog."  His  clumsy  utterance,  his  rude 
embarrassed  manner,  set  a  fresh  value  on 
the  stupidity  of  his  remarks.  I  do  not 
think  I  ever  appreciated  the  meaning  of 
two  words  until  I  knew  Irvine — the  verb, 
loaf,  and  the  noun,  oaf ;  between  them, 
they  complete  his  portrait.  He  could 
lounge,  and  wriggle,  and  rub  himself 
against  the  wall,  and  grin,  and  be  more 
in  everybody's  way  than  any  other  two 
people  that  I  ever  set  my  eyes  on.  Noth- 
ing that  he  did  became  him  ;  and  yet  you 
were  conscious  that  he  was  one  of  your 
own  race,  that  his  mind  was  cumbrously 
at  work,  revolving  the  problem  of  existence 
like  the  quid  of  gum,  and  in  his  own 
cloudy  manner  enjoying  life,  and  passing 
judgment  on  his  fellows.  Above  all  things, 
he  was  delighted  with  himself.     You  would 


The  Hunters  Family  117 

not  have  thought  it,  from  his  uneasy  man- 
ners and  troubled,  struggling  utterance; 
but  he  loved  himself  to  the  marrow,  and 
was  happy  and  proud  like  a  peacock  on  a 
rail. 

His  self-esteem  was,  indeed,  the  one 
joint  in  his  harness.  He  could  be  got  to 
work,  and  even  kept  at  work,  by  flattery. 
As  long  as  my  wife  stood  over  him,  crying 
out  how  strong  he  was,  so  long  exactly 
he  would  stick  to  the  matter  in  hand ;  and 
the  moment  she  turned  her  back,  or  ceased 
to  praise  him,  he  would  stop.  His  physical 
strength  was  wonderful  ;  and  to  have  a 
woman  stand  by  and  admire  his  achieve- 
ments, warmed  his  heart  like  sunshine. 
Yet  he  was  as  cowardly  as  he  was  power- 
ful, and  felt  no  shame  in  owning  to  the 
weakness.  Something  was  once  wanted 
from  the  crazy  platform  over  the  shaft, 
and  he  at  once  refused  to  venture  there — 
"  did  not  like,"  as  he  said,  "  foolen'  round 
them  kind  o'  places,"  and  let  my  wife  go 
instead  of  him,  looking  on  with  a  grin. 
Vanity,    where    it    rules,    is    usually    more 


1 1 8         The  Stiver  add  Squatters 


irvme 


idily  approved  him- 
self, and/expecte|  opiers  to  approve  him  ; 
rather  /poked  down  upon  my  wife,  and  de- 
cidedly expected  her  to  look  up  to  him, 
on  the;  strength  of  Qiis  superior  prudence. 

Yet  the  stranffest  part  of  the  whole  mat- 
ter was  perhapi  jtltis,  that  Irvine  was  as 
beautiful  as  a  stjatiie.  His  features  were, 
in  themselves,  gerfect ;  it  was  only  his 
cloudy,  uncouth,  &nd!  coarse  expression  that 
disfigured  them.}    So  much  strength  resid- 


frame  was  proof  sufficient 
of   his    shape.     He   must 

I 


mg  in  so  spare  a 
of   the    accuracy 

have  been  built  somewhat  after  the  pattern 
of  Jack  Sheppard  ;  but  the  famous  house- 
breaker, we  may  be  certain,  was  no  lout. 
It  was  by  the  extraordinary  gowers  of  his 
mind  no  less  than  by  the  vigour  of  his 
body,  that  he  broke  his  strong  prison  with 
such  imperfect  implements,  turning  the 
very  obstacles  to  service.  Irvine,  in  the 
same  casejwould  have  sat  down  and  spat, 
and  grumbled  curses.  He  had  the  soul  of 
a  fat  sheep,  but,  regarded  as  an  artist's 
model,  the   exterior  of   a  Greek  God.     It 


The  Ifunters  Family  119 

/ 

was  a  cruel  thought  to  persons  less  favoured 

in  their  birth,  that  this  creature,\endowed 
— to  u|se  the  language  of  theatres — with 
extraordinary  "  means,"  should  so  manage 
to  misemploy  them  that  he  looked  ugly  and 
almost  deformed.  It  was  only  by  an  effort 
of  abstraction,  and  after  many  days,  that 
yoii  discovered  what  he  was. 

ly  playing/ on  the  oaf's  conceit,  and 
standing  closely  over  him,  we  got  a  path 
made  round  the  corner  of  the  dump  to  our 
door,  so  that  we  could  come  and  go  with 
decent  ease  ;  and  he  even  enjoyed  the 
work,  for  in  that  there  were  bouldersv  to  be 
plucked  up  bodily,  bushes  to  be  uprooted, 
and  other  occasions  for  athletic  display : 
but  cutting  wood  was  a  different  mastter. 
Anybody  could  cut  wood ;  and,  besides, 
my  wife  was  tired  of  supervising  him,  and 
had  other  things  to  attend  to.}  And,  Lin 
short,  days  went  by,  and  Irvine  came  dairy, 
and  talked  and  lounged  and  spat  ;\  but  the 
firewood  remained  intact  as  sleepers  on  the 
platform  or  growing  trees  upon  the  moun- 
tain-side.    Irvine  as  a  woodcutter,  we  could 


120        The  Silverado  Squatters 

tolerate  ;  but  Irvine  as  a  friend  of  the  faro* 
ily,  at  so  much  a  day,  was  too  bald  an  im- 
position, and  at  length,  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  fourth  or  fifth  day  of  our  connec- 
tion, I  explained  to  him,  as  clearly  as  I 
could,  the  light  in  which  I  had  grown  to 
regard  his  presence.  I  pointed  out  to  him 
that  I  could  not  continue  to  give  him  a 
salary  for  spitting  on  the  Moor  ;  and  this 
expression,  which  came  after  a  good  many 
others,  at  last  penetrated  his  obdurate  wits. 
He  rose  at  once,  and  said  if  that  was  the 
way  he  was  going  to  be  spoke  to,  he  reck- 
oned he  would  quit.  And,  no  one  inter- 
posing, he  departed. 

So  far,  so  good.  But  we  had  no  fire- 
wood. The  next  afternoon,  I  strolled 
down  to  Rufe's  and  consulted  him  on  the 
subject.  It  was  a  very  droll  interview, 
in  the  large,  bare  north  room  of  the  Sil- 
verado Hotel,  Mrs.  Hanson's  patchwork  on 
a  frame,  and  Rufe,  and  his  wife,  and  I,  and 
the  oaf  himself,  all  more  or  less  embar- 
rassed. Rufe  announced  there  was  nobody 
in  the  neighbourhood  but  Irvine  who  could 


The  Hunters  Family  i21 

do  a  day's  work  for  anybody.  Irvine,  there- 
upon, refused  to  have  any  more  to  do  with 
my  service;  he  "wouldn't  work  no  more 
for  a  man  as  had  spoke  to  him  's  I  had 
done."  I  found  myself  on  the  point  of 
the  last  humiliation — driven  to  beseech  the 
creature  whom  I  had  just  dismissed  with 
insult :  but  I  took  the  high  hand  in  despair, 
said  there  must  be  no  talk  of  Irvine  coming 
back  unless  matters  were  to  be  differently 
managed  ;  that  I  would  rather  chop  fire- 
wood for  myself  than  be  fooled  ;  and,  in 
short,  the  Hansons  being  eager  for  the 
lad's  hire,  I  so  imposed  upon  them  with 
merely  affected  resolution,  that  they  ended 
by  begging  me  to  re-employ  him  again,  on 
a  solemn  promise  that  he  should  be  more 
industrious.  The  promise,  I  am  bound  to 
say,  was  kept.  We  soon  had  a  fine  pile 
of  firewood  at  our  door ;  and  if  Caliban 
gave  me  the  cold  shoulder  and  spared  me 
his  conversation,  I  thought  none  the  worse 
of  him  for  that,  nor  did  I  find  my  days 
much  longer  for  the  deprivation. 

The  leading  spirit  of  the  family  was,  I 


122        The  Silverado  Squatters 

am  inclined  to  fancy,  Mrs.  Hanson.  Her 
social  brilliancy  somewhat  dazzled  the  oth- 
ers, and  she  had  more  of  the  small  change 
of  sense.  It  was  she  who  faced  Kelmar, 
for  instance  ;  and  perhaps,  if  she  had  been 
alone,  Kelmar  would  have  had  no  rule 
within  her  doors.  Rufe,  to  be  sure,  had 
a  fine,  sober,  open-air  attitude  of  mind, 
seeing  the  world  without  exaggeration — 
perhaps,  we  may  even  say,  without  enough; 
for  he  lacked,  along  with  the  others,  that 
commercial  idealism  which  puts  so  high 
a  value  on  time  and  money.  Sanity  itself 
is  a  kind  of  convention.  Perhaps  Rufe 
was  wrong;  but,  looking  on  life  plainly, 
he  was  unable  to  perceive  that  croquet  or 
poker  were  in  any  way  less  important  than, 
for  instance,  mending  his  waggon.  Even 
his  own  profession,  hunting,  was  dear  to 
him  mainly  as  a  sort  of  play ;  even  that 
he  would  have  neglected,  had  it  not  ap- 
pealed to  his  imagination.  His  hunting- 
suit,  for  instance,  had  cost  I  should  be 
afraid  to  say  how  many  bucks — the  cur- 
rency in    which    he    paid   his   way :  it  was 


The  Hunter  s  Family  123 

all  befringed,  after  the  Indian  fashion,  and 
it  was  dear  to  his  heart.  The  pictorial 
side  of  his  daily  business  was  never  for- 
gotten. He  was  even  anxious  to  stand 
for  his  picture  in  those  buckskin  hunting 
clothes ;  and  I  remember  how  he  once 
warmed  almost  into  enthusiasm,  his  dark 
blue  eyes  growing  perceptibly  larger,  as 
he  planned  the  composition  in  which  he 
should  appear,  "  with  the  horns  of  some 
real  big  bucks,  and  dogs,  and  a  camp  on 
a  crick  "  (creek,  stream). 

There  was  no  trace  in  Irvine  of  this 
woodland  poetry.  He  did  not  care  for 
hunting,  nor  yet  for  buckskin  suits.  He 
had  never  observed  scenery.  The  world, 
as  it  appeared  to  him,  was  almost  oblite- 
rated by  his  own  great  grinning  figure  in 
the  foreground  :  Caliban  Malvolio.  And  it 
seems  to  me  as  if,  in  the  persons  of  these 
brothers-in-law,  we  had  the  two  sides  of 
rusticity  fairly  well  represented  :  the  hunter 
living  really  in  nature  ;  the  clodhopper  liv- 
ing merely  out  of  society :  the  one  bent 
up    in    every    corporal    agent    to    capacity 


124        The  Silverado  Squatters 

in  one  pursuit,  doing  at  least  one  thing 
keenly  and  thoughtfully,  and  thoroughly 
alive  to  all  that  touches  it ;  the  other  in 
the  inert  and  bestial  state,  walking  in  a 
faint  dream,  and  taking  so  dim  an  im- 
pression of  the  myriad  sides  of  life  that 
he  is  truly  conscious  of  nothing  but  him- 
self. It  is  only  in  the  fastnesses  of  nature, 
forests,  mountains,  and  the  back  of  man's 
beyond,  that  a  creature  endowed  with  five 
senses  can  grow  up  into  the  perfection  of 
this  crass  and  earthy  vanity.  In  towns  or 
the  busier  country  sides,  he  is  roughly 
reminded  of  other  men's  existence ;  and 
if  he  learns  no  more,  he  learns  at  least 
to  fear  contempt.  But  Irvine  had  come 
scatheless  through  life,  conscious  only  of 
himself,  of  his  great  strength  and  intelli- 
gence ;  and  in  the  silence  of  the  universe, 
to  which  he  did  not  listen,  dwelling  with 
delight  on  the  sound  of  his  own  thoughts. 


THE  SEA   FOGS 


THE   SEA   FOGS 

A  CHANGE  in  the  colour  of  the  light 
usually  called  me  in  the  morning.  By 
a  certain  hour,  the  long,  vertical  chinks  in 
our  western  gable,  where  the  boards  had 
shrunk  and  separated,  flashed  suddenly 
into  my  eyes  as  stripes  of  dazzling  blue, 
at  once  so  dark  and  splendid  that  I  used  to 
marvel  how  the  qualities  could  be  com- 
bined. At  an  earlier  hour,  the  heavens  in 
that  quarter  were  still  quietly  coloured, 
but  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain  which 
shuts  in  the  canyon  already  glowed  with 
sunlight  in  a  wonderful  compound  of  gold 
and  rose  and  green ;  and  this  too  would 
kindle,  although  more  mildly  and  with 
rainbow  tints,  the  fissures  of  our  crazy 
gable.      If  I  were  sleeping  heavily,  it  was 


K 


128         The  Silverado  Squatters 

the  bold  blue  that  struck  me  awake ;  if 
more  lightly,  then  I  would  come  to  myself 
in  that  earlier  and  fairier  light. 

One  Sunday  morning,  about  five,  the 
first  brightness  called  me.  I  rose  and 
turned  to  the  east,  not  for  my  devotions, 
but  for  air.  The  night  had  been  very  still. 
The  little  private  gale  that  blew  every 
evening  in  our  canyon,  for  ten  minutes  or 
perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  had  swiftly 
blown  itself  out ;  in  the  hours  that  followed 
not  a  sigh  of  wind  had  shaken  the  treetops ; 
and  our  barrack,  for  all  its  breaches,  was 
less  fresh  that  morning  than  of  wont.  But 
I  had  no  sooner  reached  the  window  than 
I  forgot  all  else  in  the  sight  that  met  my 
eyes,  and  I  made  but  two  bounds  into  my 
clothes,  and  down  the  crazy  plank  to  the 
platform. 

The  sun  was  still  concealed  below  the 
opposite  hilltops,  though  it  was  shining 
already,  not  twenty  feet  above  my  head, 
on  our  own  mountain  slope.  But  the 
scene,  beyond  a  few  near  features,  was 
entirely  changed.     Napa  Valley  was  gone; 


The  Sea  Fogs  129 

gone  were  all  the  lower  slopes  and  woody 
foothills  of  the  range  ;  and  in  their  place, 
not  a  thousand  feet  below  me,  rolled  a 
great  level  ocean.  It  was  as  though  I  had 
gone  to  bed  the  night  before,  safe  in  a 
nook  of  inland  mountains,  and  had  awak- 
v.  ened  in  a  bay  upon  the  coast/  I  had  seen 
these  inundations  from  below ;  at  Calistoga 
I  had  risen  and  gone  abroad  in  the  early 
morning,  coughing  and  sneezing,  under 
fathoms  on  fathoms  of  gray  sea  vapour, 
like  a  cloudy  sky — a  dull  sight  for  the 
artist,  and  a  painful  experience  for  the  in- 
valid. But  to  sit  aloft  one's  self  in  the 
pure  air  and  under  the  unclouded  dome  of 
heaven,  and  thus  look  down  on  the  sub- 
mergence of  the  valley,  was  strangely  dif- 
ferent and  even  delightful  to  the  eyes. 
Far  away  were  hilltops  like  little  islands. 
Nearer,  a  smoky  surf  beat  about  the  foot 
of  precipices  and  poured  into  all  the  coves 
of  these  rough  mountains.  The  colour  of 
that  fog  ocean  was  a  thing  never  to  be 
forgotten.       For   an    instant,    among    the 

Hebrides  and  just  about  sundown,  I  have 
9 


130        The  Silverado  Squatters 

seen  something  like  it  on  the  sea  itself. 
But  the  white  was  not  so  opaline ;  nor 
was  there,  what  surprisingly  increased  the 
effect,  that  breathless,  crystal  stillness  over 
all.  Even  in  its  gentlest  moods  the  salt 
sea  travails,  moaning  among  the  weeds  or 
lisping  on  the  sand ;  but  that  vast  fog 
ocean  lay  in  a  trance  of  silence,  nor  did 
the  sweet  air  of  the  morning  tremble  with 
a  sound. 

As  I  continued  to  sit  upon  the  dump, 
I  began  to  observe  that  this  sea  was  not 
so  level  as  at  first  sight  it  appeared  to 
be.  Away  in  the  extreme  south,  a  little 
hill  of  fog  arose  against  the  sky  above 
the  general  surface,  and  as  it  had  already 
caught  the  sun,  it  shone  on  the  horizon 
like  the  topsails  of  some  giant  ship.  There 
were  huge  waves,  stationary,  as  it  seemed, 
like  waves  in  a  frozen  sea  ;  and  yet,  as  I 
looked  again,  I  was  not  sure  but  they  were 
moving  after  all,  with  a  slow  and  august 
advance.  And  while  I  was  yet  doubting, 
a  promontory  of  the  hills  some  four  or  five 
miles  away,   conspicuous   by  a  bouquet  of 


The  Sea  Fogs  13 l 


o 


tall  pines,  was  in  a  single  instant  overtaken 
and  swallowed  up.  It  reappeared  in  a  lit- 
tle, with  its  pines,  but  this  time  as  an  islet, 
and  only  to  be  swallowed  up  once  more 
and  then  for  good.  This  set  me  looking 
nearer,  and  I  saw  that  in  every  cove  along 
the  line  of  mountains  the  fog  was  being 
piled  in  higher  and  higher,  as  though  by 
some  wind  that  was  inaudible  to  me.  I 
could  trace  its  progress,  one  pine  tree  first 
growing  hazy  and  then  disappearing  after 
another;  although  sometimes  there  was 
none  of  this  forerunning  haze,  but  the 
whole  opaque  white  ocean  gave  a  start  and 
swallowed  a  piece  of  mountain  at  a  gulp. 
/It  was  to  flee  these  poisonous  fogs  that  I 
had  left  the  seaboard,  and  climbed  so  high 
among  the  mountains.  ,  And  now,  behold, 
here  came  the  fog  to  besiege  me  in  my 
chosen  altitudes,  and  yet  came  so  beauti- 
fully that  my  first  thought  was  of  welcome. 
The  sun  had  now  gotten  much  higher, 
and  through  all  the  gaps  of  the  hills  it 
cast  long  bars  of  gold  across  that  white 
ocean.     An  eagle,  or  some  other  very  great 


132         The  Silverado  Squatters 

bird  of  the  mountain,  came  wheeling  over 
the  nearer  pine-tops,  and  hung,  poised  and 
something  sideways,  as  if  to  look  abroad 
on  that  unwonted  desolation,  spying,  per- 
haps with  terror,  for  the  eyries  of  her 
comrades.  Then,  with  a  long  cry,  she  dis- 
appeared again  towards  Lake  County  and 
the  clearer  air.  At  length  it  seemed  to  me 
as  if  the  flood  were  beginning  to  subside. 
The  old  landmarks,  by  whose  disappear- 
ance I  had  measured  its  advance,  here  a 
crag,  there  a  brave  pine  tree,  now  began, 
in  the  inverse  order,  to  make  their  reap- 
pearance into  daylight.  I  judged  all  dan- 
ger of  the  fog  was  over.  This  was  not 
Noah's  flood  ;  it  was  but  a  morning  spring, 
and  would  now  drift  out  seaward  whence  it 
came.  So,  mightily  relieved,  and  a  good 
deal  exhilarated  by  the  sight,  I  went  into 
.the  house  to  light  the  fire.  / 

I  suppose  it  was  nearly  seven  when  I 
once  more  mounted  the  platform  to  look 
abroad.  The  fog  ocean  had  swelled  up 
enormously  since  last  I  saw  it  ;  and  a  few 
hundred  feet   below  me,  in    the  deep  gap 


The  Sea  Fogs  x33 

where  the  Toll  House  stands  and  the  road 
runs  through  into  Lake  County,  it  had 
already  topped  the  slope,  and  was  pouring 
over  and  down  the  other  side  like  driving 
smoke.  The  wind  had  climbed  along  with 
it ;  and  though  I  was  still  in  calm  air,  I 
could  see  the  trees  tossing  below  me,  and 
their  long,  strident  sighing  mounted  to  me 
where  I  stood. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  fog  had  sur- 
mounted all  the  ridge  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  gap,  though  a  shoulder  of  the  moun- 
tain still  warded  it  out  of  our  canyon. 
Napa  Valley  and  its  bounding  hills  were 
now  utterly  blotted  out.  The  fog,  sunny 
white  in  the  sunshine,  was  pouring  over 
into  Lake  County  in  a  huge,  ragged  cata- 
ract, tossing  treetops  appearing  and  dis- 
appearing in  the  spray.  The  air  struck 
with  a  little  chill,  and  set  me  coughing.  It 
smelt  strong  of  the  fog,  like  the  smell  of 
a  washing-house,  but  with  a  shrewd  tang 
of  the  sea  salt. 

Had    it    not   been    for  two   things — the 
sheltering  spur  which  answered  as  a  dyke, 


134        The  Silverado  Squatters 

and  the  great  valley  on  the  other  side 
which  rapidly  engulfed  whatever  mounted 
— our  own  little  platform  in  the  canyon 
must  have  been  already  buried  a  hundred 
feet  in  salt  and  poisonous  air.  As  it  was, 
the  interest  of  the  scene  entirely  occupied 
our  minds.  We  were  set  just  out  of  the 
wind,  and  but  just  above  the  fog ;  we  could 
listen  to  the  voice  of  the  one  as  to  music 
on  the  stage  ;  we  could  plunge  our  eyes 
down  into  the  other,  as  into  some  flowing 
stream  from  over  the  parapet  of  a  bridge  ; 
thus  we  looked  on  upon  a  strange,  impet- 
uous, silent,  shifting  exhibition  of  the 
powers  of  nature,  and  saw  the  familiar 
landscape  changing  from  moment  to  mo- 
ment like  figures  in  a  dream. 

The  imagination  loves  to  trifle  with  what 
is  not.  Had  this  been  indeed  the  deluge, 
I  should  have  felt  more  strongly,  but  the 
emotion  would  have  been  similar  in  kind. 
I  played  with  the  idea,  as  the  child  flees  in 
delighted  terror  from  the  creations  of  his 
fancy.  The  look  of  the  thing  helped  me. 
And  when  at  last  I  began  to  flee  up  the 


The  Sea  Fogs  135 

mountain,  it  was  indeed  partly  to  escape 
from  the  raw  air  that  kept  me  coughing, 
but  it  was  also  part  in  play. 

As  I  ascended  the  mountain-side,  I  came 
once  more  to  overlook  the  upper  surface  of 
the  fog  ;  but  it  wore  a  different  appearance 
from  what  I  had  beheld  at  daybreak.  For, 
first,  the  sun  now  fell  on  it  from  high  over- 
head, and  its  surface  shone  and  undulated 
like  a  great  nor'land  moor  country,  sheeted 
with  untrodden  morning  snow.  And  next 
the  new  level  must  have  been  a  thousand 
or  fifteen  hundred  feet  higher  than  the  old, 
so  that  only  five  or  six  points  of  all  the 
broken  country  below  me,  still  stood  out. 
Napa  Valley  was  now  one  with  Sonoma  on 
the  west.  On  the  hither  side,  only  a  thin 
scattered  fringe  of  bluffs  was  unsubmerged  ; 
and  through  all  the  gaps  the  fog  was  pour- 
ing over,  like  an  ocean,  into  the  blue  clear 
sunny  country  on  the  east.  There  it  was 
soon  lost  ;  for  it  fell  instantly  into  the 
bottom  of  the  valleys,  following  the  water- 
shed ;  and  the  hilltops  in  that  quarter  were 
still  clear  cut  upon  the  eastern  sky. 


136        The  Silverado  Squatters 

Through  the  Toll  House  gap  and  over 
the  near  ridges  on  the  other  side,  the 
deluge  was  immense.  A  spray  of  thin 
vapour  was  thrown  high  above  it,  rising  and 
falling,  and  blown  into  fantastic  shapes. 
The  speed  of  its  course  was  like  a  mountain 
torrent.  Here  and  there  a  few  treetops 
were  discovered  and  then  whelmed  again  ; 
and  for  one  second,  the  bough  of  a  dead 
pine  beckoned  out  of  the  spray  like  the 
arm  of  a  drowning  man.  But  still  the 
imagination  was  dissatisfied,  still  the  ear 
waited  for  something  more.  Had  this  in- 
deed been  water  (as  it  seemed  so,  to  the 
eye),  with  what  a  plunge  of  reverberating 
thunder  would  it  have  rolled  upon  its 
course,  disembowelling  mountains  and  de- 
racinating pines !  And  yet  water  it  was, 
and  sea-water  at  that — true  Pacific  billows, 
only  somewhat  rarefied,  rolling  in  mid  air 
among  the  hilltops. 

I  climbed  still  higher,  among  the  red 
rattling  gravel  and  dwarf  underwood  of 
Mount  Saint  Helena,  until  I  could  look 
right   down    upon    Silverado,   and   admire 


The  Sea  Foq-s  137 


«5 


the  favoured  nook  in  which  it  lay.  The 
sunny  plain  of  fog  was  several  hundred 
feet  higher;  behind  the  protecting  spur  a 
gigantic  accumulation  of  cottony  vapour 
threatened,  with  every  second,  to  blow 
over  and  submerge  our  homestead  ;  but 
the  vortex  setting  past  the  Toll  House 
was  too  strong ;  and  there  lay  our  lit- 
tle platform,  in  the  arms  of  the  deluge, 
but  still  enjoying  its  unbroken  sunshine. 
About  eleven,  however,  thin  spray  came 
flying  over  the  friendly  buttress,  and  I 
began  to  think  the  fog  had  hunted  out 
its  Jonah  after  all.  But  it  was  the  last 
effort.  The  wind  veered  while  we  were  at 
dinner,  and  began  to  blow  squally  from 
the  mountain  summit  ;  and  by  half-past 
one,  all  that  world  of  sea  fogs  was  utterly 
routed  and  flying  here  and  there  into  the 
south  in  little  rags  of  cloud.  And  instead 
of  a  lone  sea-beach,  we  found  ourselves 
once  more  inhabiting  a  high  mountain- 
side, with  the  clear  green  country  far 
below  us,  and  the  light  smoke  of  Calistoga 
blowing  in  the  air. 


138         The  Silverado  Squatters 

This  was  the  great  Rjussian  campaign 
for  that  season.  Now  and  then,  in  the 
early  morning,  a  little  whjite  lakelet  of  fog 
would  be  seen  far  down 'in  Napa  Valley  ; 
but  the  heights  were  not  again  assailed, 
nor  was  the  surrounding  world  again  shut 
off  from  Silverado. 


THE   TOLL   HOUSE 

THE  Toll  House,  standing  alone  by  the 
wayside  under  nodding  pines,  with  its 
streamlet  and  water-tank  ;  its  backwoods, 
toll-bar,  and  well  trodden  croquet  ground  ; 
the  ostler  standing  by  the  stable  door, 
chewing  a  straw  ;  a  glimpse  of  the  Chinese 
cook  in  the  back  parts ;  and  Mr.  Hoddy 
in  the  bar,  gravely  alert  and  serviceable, 
and  equally  anxious  to  lend  or  borrow 
books  ; — dozed  all  day  in  the  dusty  sun- 
shine, more  than  half  asleep.  There  were 
no  neighbours,  except  the  Hansons  up 
the  hill.  The  traffic  on  the  road  was 
infinitesimal ;  only,  at  rare  intervals,  a 
couple  in  a  waggon,  or  a  dusty  farmer  on 
a  spring-board,  toiling  over  "  the  grade " 
to    that    metropolitan    hamlet,   Calistoga ; 


142        The  Silverado  Squatters 

and,    at    the    fixed    hours,   the   passage   of 
the  stages. 

The  nearest  building  was  the  school- 
house,  down  the  road  ;  and  the  school- 
ma'am  boarded  at  the  Toll  House,  walk- 
ing thence  in  the  morning  to  the  little 
brown  shanty,  where  she  taught  the  young 
ones  of  the  district,  and  returning  thither 
pretty  weary  in  the  afternoon.  She  had 
chosen  this  outlying  situation,  I  under- 
stood, for  her  health.  Mr.  Corwin  was 
consumptive  ;  so  was  Rufe ;  so  was  Mr. 
Jennings,  the  engineer.  In  short,  the 
place  was  a  kind  of  small  Davos  :  con- 
sumptive folk  consorting  on  a  hilltop  in 
the  most  unbroken  idleness.  Jennings 
never  did  anything  that  I  could  see,  except 
now  and  then  to  fish,  and  generally  to  sit 
about  in  the  bar  and  the  verandah,  waiting 
for  something  to  happen.  Corwin  and 
Rufe  did  as  little  as  possible  ;  and  if  the 
school-ma'am,  poor  lady,  had  to  work 
pretty  hard  all  morning,  she  subsided  when 
it  was  over  into  much  the  same  dazed 
beatitude  as  all  the  rest. 


The  Toll  Hotise  143 

Her  special  corner  was  the  parlour — a 
very  genteel  room,  with  Bible  prints,  a 
crayon  portrait  of  Mrs.  Corwin  in  the 
height  of  fashion,  a  few  years  ago,  another 
of  her  son  (Mr.  Corwin  was  not  repre- 
sented), a  mirror,  and  a  selection  of  dried 
grasses.  A  large  book  was  laid  religiously 
on  the  table — "  From  Palace  to  Hovel," 
I  believe,  its  name — full  of  the  raciest  ex- 
periences in  England.  The  author  had 
mingled  freely  with  all  classes,  the  nobility 
particularly  meeting  him  with  open  arms  ; 
and  I  must  say  that  traveller  had  ill  re- 
quited his  reception.  His  book,  in  short, 
was  a  capital  instance  of  the  Penny  Messa- 
lina  school  of  literature  ;  and  there  arose 
from  it,  in  that  cool  parlour,  in  that  silent, 
wayside,  mountain  inn,  a  rank  atmosphere 
of  gold  and  blood  and  "  Jenkins,"  and  the 
"  Mysteries  of  London,"  and  sickening, 
inverted  snobbery,  fit  to  knock  you  down. 
The  mention  of  this  book  reminds  me  of 
another  and  far  racier  picture  of  our  island 
life.  The  latter  parts  of  Rocambole  are 
surely  too  sparingly  consulted  in  the  coun- 


144         The  Silverado  Squatters 

try  which  they  celebrate.  No  man's  edu- 
cation can  be  said  to  be  complete,  nor  can 
he  pronounce  the  world  yet  emptied  of 
enjoyment,  till  he  has  made  the  acquain- 
tance of  "  the  Reverend  Patterson,  director 
of  the  Evangelical  Society."  To  follow 
the  evolutions  of  that  reverend  gentleman, 
who  goes  through  scenes  in  which  even 
Mr.  Duffield  would  hesitate  to  place  a 
bishop,  is  to  rise  to  new  ideas.  But,  alas ! 
there  was  no  Patterson  about  the  Toll 
House.  Only,  alongside  of  "  From  Palace 
to  Hovel,"  a  sixpenny  "  Ouida "  figured. 
So  literature,  you  see,  was  not  unrepre- 
sented. 

The  school-ma'am  had  friends  to  stay 
with  her,  other  school-ma'ams  enjoying 
their  holidays,  quite  a  bevy  of  damsels. 
They  seemed  never  to  go  out,  or  not 
beyond  the  verandah,  but  sat  close  in 
the  little  parlour,  quietly  talking  or  listen- 
ing to  the  wind  among  the  trees.  Sleep 
dwelt  in  the  Toll  House,  like  a  fixture  : 
summer  sleep,  shallow,  soft,  and  dreamless. 
A  cuckoo  clock,   a   great    rarity  in    such  a 


The  Toll  House  145 

place,  hooted  at  intervals  about  the  echo- 
ing house  ;  and  Mr.  Jennings  would  open 
his  eyes  for  a  moment  in  the  bar,  and 
turn  the  leaf  of  a  newspaper,  and  the  rest- 
ing school-ma'ams  in  the  parlour  would 
be  recalled  to  the  consciousness  of  their 
inaction.  Busy  Mrs.  Corwin  and  her  busy 
Chinaman  might  be  heard  indeed,  in  the 
penetralia,  pounding  dough  or  rattling 
dishes ;  or  perhaps  Rufe  had  called  up 
some  of  the  sleepers  for  a  game  of  croquet, 
and  the  hollow  strokes  of  the  mallet 
sounded  far  away  among  the  woods  :  but 
with  these  exceptions,  it  was  sleep  and  sun- 
shine and  dust,  and  the  wind  in  the  pine 
trees,  all  day  long. 

A  little  before  stage  time,  that  castle  of 
indolence  awoke.  The  ostler  threw  his 
straw  away  and  set  to  his  preparations. 
Mr.  Jennings  rubbed  his  eyes  ;  happy  Mr. 
Jennings,  the  something  he  had  been  wait- 
ing for  all  day  about  to  happen  at  last  ! 
The  boarders  gathered  in  the  verandah, 
silently  giving   ear,   and  gazing  down   the 

road  with  shaded  eyes.     And  as  yet  there 
10 


146        The  Silverado  Squatters 

was  no  sign  for  the  senses,  not  a  sound, 
not  a  tremor  of  the  mountain  road.  The 
birds,  to  whom  the  secret  of  the  hooting 
cuckoo  is  unknown,  must  have  set  down 
to  instinct  this  premonitory  bustle. 

And  then  the  first  of  the  two  stages 
swooped  upon  the  Toll  House  with  a  roar 
and  in  a  cloud  of  dust ;  and  the  shock  had 
not  yet  time  to  subside,  before  the  second 
was  abreast  of  it.  Huge  concerns  they 
were,  well-horsed  and  loaded,  the  men  in 
their  shirt-sleeves,  the  women  swathed  in 
veils,  the  long  whip  cracking  like  a  pistol ; 
and  as  they  charged  upon  that  slumbering 
hostelry,  each  shepherding  a  dust  storm, 
the  dead  place  blossomed  into  life  and 
talk  and  clatter.  This  the  Toll  House  ? — 
with  its  city  throng,  its  jostling  shoulders, 
its  infinity  of  instant  business  in  the  bar? 
The  mind  would  not  receive  it !  The 
heartfelt  bustle  of  that  hour  is  hardly 
credible ;  the  thrill  of  the  great  shower  of 
letters  from  the  post-bag,  the  childish  hope 
and  interest  with  which  one  gazed  in  all 
these  strangers'  eyes.     They  paused  there 


The  Toll  House  *47 

but  to  pass  :  the  blue-clad  China-boy,  the 
San  Francisco  magnate,  the  mystery  in 
the  dust  coat,  the  secret  memoirs  in  tweed, 
the  ogling,  well-shod  lady  with  her  troop 
of  girls ;  they  did  but  flash  and  go  ;  they 
were  hull-down  for  us  behind  life's  ocean, 
and  we  but  hailed  their  topsails  on  the 
line.  Yet,  out  of  our  great  solitude  of 
four  and  twenty  mountain  hours,  we 
thrilled  to  their  momentary  presence; 
gauged  and  divined  them,  loved  and 
hated ;  and  stood  light-headed  in  that 
storm  of  human  electricity.  Yes,  like  Pic- 
cadilly Circus,  this  is  also  one  of  life's 
crossing-places.  Here  I  beheld  one  man, 
already  famous  or  infamous,  a  centre  of 
pistol-shots:  and  another  who,  if  not  yet 
known  to  rumour,  will  fill  a  column  of  the 
Sunday  paper  when  he  comes  to  hang — 
a  burly,  thick-set,  powerful  Chinese  des- 
perado, six  long  bristles  upon  either  lip ; 
redolent  of  whiskey,  playing  cards,  and 
pistols ;  swaggering  in  the  bar  with  the 
lowest  assumption  of  the  lowest  European 
manners ;  rapping  out  blackguard   English 


148         The  Silverado  Squatters 

oaths  in  his  canorous  oriental  voice ;  and 
combining  in  one  person  the  depravities 
of  two  races  and  two  civilizations.  For 
all  his  lust  and  vigour,  he  seemed  to  look 
cold  upon  me  from  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  the  gallows.  He  imagined  a 
vain  thing ;  and  while  he  drained  his  cock- 
tail, Holbein's  death  was  at  his  elbow. 
Once,  too,  I  fell  in  talk  with  another  of 
these  flitting  strangers — like  the  rest,  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  and  all  begrimed  with 
dust — and  the  next  minute  we  were  dis- 
cussing Paris  and  London,  theatres  and 
wines.  To  him,  journeying  from  one  hu- 
man place  to  another,  this  was  a  trifle  ; 
but  to  me !  No,  Mr.  Lillie,  I  have  not 
forgotten  it. 

And  presently  the  city-tide  was  at  its 
flood  and  began  to  ebb.  Life  runs  in  Pic- 
cadilly Circus,  say,  from  nine  to  one,  and 
then,  there  also,  ebbs  into  the  small  hours 
of  the  echoing  policeman  and  the  lamps 
and  stars.  But  the  Toll  House  is  far  up 
stream,  and  near  its  rural  springs ;  the 
bubble  of  the  tide  but  touches  it.     Before 


The   Toll  House  149 

you  had  yet  grasped  your  pleasure,  the 
horses  were  put  to,  the  loud  whips  volleyed, 
and  the  tide  was  gone.  North  and  south 
had  the  two  stages  vanished,  the  towering 
dust  subsided  in  the  woods  ;  but  there  was 
still  an  interval  before  the  flush  had  fallen 
on  your  cheeks,  before  the  ear  became 
once  more  contented  with  the  silence,  or 
the  seven  sleepers  of  the  Toll  House  dozed 
back  to  their  accustomed  corners.  Yet  a 
little,  and  the  ostler  would  swing  round 
the  great  barrier  across  the  road ;  and  in 
the  golden  evening,  that  dreamy  inn  begin 
to  trim  its  lamps  and  spread  the  board  for 
supper. 

As  I  recall  the  place — the  green  dell 
below  ;  the  spires  of  pine  ;  the  sun-warm, 
scented  air  ;  that  gray,  gabled  inn,  with  its 
faint  stirrings  of  life  amid  the  slumber  of 
the  mountains — I  slowly  awake  to  a  sense 
of  admiration,  gratitude,  and  almost  love. 
A  fine  place,  after  all,  for  a  wasted  life  to 
doze  away  in — the  cuckoo  clock  hooting  of 
its  far  home  country  ;  the  croquet  mallets, 
eloquent  of  English  lawns  ;  the  stages  daily 


150        The  Silverado  Squatters 

bringing  news  of  the  turbulent  world  away 
below  there  ;  and  perhaps  once  in  the  sum- 
mer, a  salt  fog  pouring  overhead  with  its 
tale  of  the  Pacific. 


A  STARRY  DRIVE 


A   STARRY   DRIVE 

TN  our  rule  at  Silverado,  there  was  a  mel- 
ancholy interregnum.  The  queen  and 
the  crown  prince  with  one  accord  fell  sick ; 
and,  as  I  was  sick  to  begin  with,  our  lone 
position  on  Mount  Saint  Helena  was  no 
longer  tenable,  and  we  had  to  hurry  back 
to  Calistoga  and  a  cottage  on  the  green. 
By  that  time  we  had  begun  to  realize  the 
difficulties  of  our  position.  We  had  found 
what  an  amount  of  labour  it  cost  to  sup- 
port life  in  our  red  canyon  ;  and  it  was  the 
dearest  desire  of  our  hearts  to  get  a  China- 
boy  to  go  along  with  us  when  we  returned. 
We  could  have  given  him  a  whole  house  to 
himself,  self-contained,  as  they  say  in  the 
advertisements ;  and  on  the  money  ques- 
tion  we  were  prepared   to  go    far.     Kong 


154        The  Silverado  Squatters 

Sam  Kee,  the  Calistoga  washerman,  was 
entrusted  with  the  affair ;  and  from  day  to 
day  it  languished  on,  with  protestations  on 
our  part  and  mellifluous  excuses  on  the 
part  of  Kong  Sam  Kee. 

At  length,  about  half-past  eight  of  our 
last  evening,  with  the  waggon  ready  har- 
nessed to  convey  us  up  the  grade,  the 
washerman,  with  a  somewhat  sneering  air, 
produced  the  boy.  He  was  a  handsome, 
gentlemanly  lad,  attired  in  rich  dark  blue, 
and  shod  with  snowy  white  ;  but,  alas  !  he 
had  heard  rumours  of  Silverado.  He  knew 
it  for  a  lone  place  on  the  mountain-side, 
with  no  friendly  wash-house  near  by,  where 
he  might  smoke  a  pipe  of  opium  o'  nights 
with  other  China-boys,  and  lose  his  little 
earnings  at  the  game  of  tan  ;  and  he  first 
backed  out  for  more  money ;  and  then, 
when  that  demand  was  satisfied,  refused  to 
come  point-blank.  He  was  wedded  to  his 
wash-houses  ;  he  had  no  taste  for  the  rural 
life  ;  and  we  must  go  to  our  mountain  ser- 
vantless.  It  must  have  been  near  half  an 
hour    before  we  reached    that    conclusion, 


A   Starry  Drive  1 55 

standing  in  the  midst  of  Calistoga  high 
street  under  the  stars,  and  the  China-boy 
and  Kong  Sam  Kee  singing  their  pigeon 
English  in  the  sweetest  voices  and  with 
the  most  musical  inflections. 

We  were  not,  however,  to  return  alone ; 
for  we  brought  with  us  Joe  Strong,  the 
painter,  a  most  good-natured  comrade  and 
a  capital  hand  at  an  omelette.  I  do  not 
know  in  which  capacity  he  was  most  valued 
— as  a  cook  or  a  companion  ;  and  he  did 
excellently  well  in  both. 

The  Kong  Sam  Kee  negociation  had 
delayed  us  unduly ;  it  must  have  been  half- 
past  nine  before  we  left  Calistoga,  and 
night  came  fully  ere  we  struck  the  bottom 
of  the  grade.  I  have  never  seen  such  a 
night.  It  seemed  to  throw  calumny  in  the 
teeth  of  all  the  painters  that  ever  dabbled 
in  starlight.  The  sky  itself  was  of  a  ruddy, 
powerful,  nameless,  changing  colour,  dark 
and  glossy  like  a  serpent's  back.  The  stars, 
by  innumerable  millions,  stuck  boldly  forth 
like  lamps.  The  milky  way  was  bright, 
like  a  moonlit  cloud  ;  half  heaven  seemed 


156        The  Silverado  Squatters 

milky  way.  The  greater  luminaries  shone 
each  more  clearly  than  a  winter's  moon. 
Their  light  was  dyed  in  every  sort  of  colour 
— red,  like  fire  ;  blue,  like  steel  ;  green,  like 
the  tracks  of  sunset  ;  and  so  sharply  did 
each  stand  forth  in  its  own  lustre  that 
there  was  no  appearance  of  that  flat,  star- 
spangled  arch  we  know  so  well  in  pictures, 
but  all  the  hollow  of  heaven  was  one  chaos 
of  contesting  luminaries — a  hurly-burly  of 
stars.  Against  this  the  hills  and  rugged 
treetops  stood  out  redly  dark. 

As  we  continued  to  advance,  the  lesser 
lights  and  milky  ways  first  grew  pale,  and 
then  vanished ;  the  countless  hosts  of 
heaven  dwindled  in  number  by  successive 
millions  ;  those  that  still  shone  had  tem- 
pered their  exceeding  brightness  and  fallen 
back  into  their  customary  wistful  distance  ; 
and  the  sky  declined  from  its  first  bewilder- 
ing splendour  into  the  appearance  of  a 
common  night.  Slowly  this  change  pro- 
ceeded, and  still  there  was  no  sign  of  any 
cause.  Then  a  whiteness  like  mist  was 
thrown    over  the    spurs   of   the    mountain. 


A  Starry  Drive  157 

Yet  a  while,  and,  as  we  turned  a  corner,  a 
great  leap  of  silver  light  and  net  of  forest 
shadows  fell  across  the  road  and  upon  our 
wondering  waggonful ;  and,  swimming  low 
among  the  trees,  we  beheld  a  strange,  mis- 
shapen, waning  moon,  half-tilted  on  her 
back. 

"  Where  are  ye  when  the  moon  appears?" 
so  the  old  poet  sang,  half-taunting,  to  the 
stars,  bent  upon  a  courtly  purpose. 

"  As  the  sunlight  round  the  dim  earth's  midnight 
tower  of  shadow  pours, 
Streaming  past  the  dim,  wide  portals, 
Viewless  to  the  eyes  of  mortals, 
Till  it  floods  the  moon's  pale  islet  or  the  morn- 
ing's golden  shores." 

So  sings  Mr.  Trowbridge,  with  a  noble 
inspiration.  And  so  had  the  sunlight 
flooded  that  pale  islet  of  the  moon,  and 
her  lit  face  put  out,  one  after  another, 
that  galaxy  of  stars.  The  wonder  of  the 
drive  was  over;  but,  by  some  nice  conjunc- 
tion of  clearness  in  the  air  and  fit  shadow 
in   the  valley  where  we  travelled,  we   had 


158         The  Silverado  Squatters 

seen  for  a  little  while  that  brave  display 
of  the  midnight  heavens.  It  was  gone,  but 
it  had  been  ;  nor  shall  I  ever  again  behold 
the  stars  with  the  same  mind.  He  who 
has  seen  the  sea  commoved  with  a  great 
hurricane,  thinks  of  it  very  differently  from 
him  who  has  seen  it  only  in  a  calm.  And 
the  difference  between  a  calm  and  a  hurri- 
cane is  not  greatly  more  striking  than  that 
between  the  ordinary  face  of  night  and  the 
splendour  that  shone  upon  us  in  that  drive. 
Two  in  our  waggon  knew  night  as  she 
shines  upon  the  tropics,  but  even  that  bore 
no  comparison.  The  nameless  colour  of 
the  sky,  the  hues  of  the  star-fire,  and  the 
incredible  projection  of  the  stars  them- 
selves, starting  from  their  orbits,  so  that 
the  eye  seemed  to  distinguish  their  posi- 
tions in  the  hollow  of  space — these  were 
things  that  we  had  never  seen  before  and 
shall  never  see  again. 

Meanwhile,  in  this  altered  night,  we  pro- 
ceeded on  our  way  among  the  scents  and 
silence  of  the  forest,  reached  the  top  of  the 
grade,  wound  up  by  Hanson's,  and  came  at 


A  Starry  Drive  159 

last  to  a  stand  under  the  flying  gargoyle  of 
the  chute.  Sam,  who  had  been  lying  back, 
fast  asleep,  with  the  moon  on  his  face,  got 
down,  with  the  remark  that  it  was  pleasant  \ 
"  to  be  home."  The  waggon  turned  and  i 
drove  away,  the  noise  gently  dying  in  the 
woods,  and  we  clambered  up  the  rough 
path,  Caliban's  great  feat  of  engineering, 
and  came  home  to  Silverado. 

The  moon  shone  in  at  the  eastern  doors 
and  windows,  and  over  the  lumber  on  the 
platform.  The  one  tail  pine  beside  the 
ledge  was  steeped  in  silver.  Away  up 
the  canyon,  a  wild  cat  welcomed  us  with 
three  discordant  squalls.  But  once  we 
had  lit  a  candle,  and  began  to  review  our 
improvements,  homely  in  either  sense,  and 
count  our  stores,  it  was  wonderful  what  a 
feeling  of  possession  and  permanence  grew 
up  in  the  hearts  of  the  lords  of  Silverado. 
A  bed  had  still  to  be  made  up  for  Strong, 
and  the  morning's  water  to  be  fetched, 
with  clinking  pail ;  and  as  we  set  about 
these  household  duties,  and  showed  off 
our   wealth    and    conveniences    before   the 


160        The  Silverado  Squatters 

stranger,  and  had  a  glass  of  wine,  I  think, 
in  honour  of  our  return,  and  trooped  at 
length  one  after  another  up  the  flying 
bridge  of  plank,  and  lay  down  to  sleep  in 
our  shattered,  moon-pierced  barrack,  we 
were  among  the  happiest  sovereigns  in  the 
world,  and  certainly  ruled  over  the  most 
contented  people.  Yet,  in  our  absence, 
the  palace  had  been  sacked.  Wild  cats, 
so  the  Hansons  said,  had  broken  in  and 
carried  off  a  side  of  bacon,  a  hatchet,  and 
two  knives. 


EPISODES   IN   THE   STORY 
OF  A   MINE 


EPISODES    IN   THE   STORY 
OF   A   MINE 

TVTO  one  could  live  at  Silverado  and  not 
be  curious  about  the  story  of  the 
mine.  We  were  surrounded  by  so  many 
evidences  of  expense  and  toil,  we  lived  so 
entirely  in  the  wreck  of  that  great  enter- 
prise, like  mites  in  the  ruins  of  a  cheese, 
that  the  idea  of  the  old  din  and  bustle 
haunted  our  repose.  Our  own  house,  the 
forge,  the  dump,  the  chutes,  the  rails, 
the  windlass,  the  mass  of  broken  plant ; 
the  two  tunnels,  one  far  below  in  the 
green  dell,  the  other  on  the  platform  where 
we  kept  our  wine ;  the  deep  shaft,  with  the 
sun-glints  and  the  water-drops ;  above  all, 
the  ledge,  that  great  gaping  slice  out  of 
the  mountain  shoulder,  propped  apart  by 


\ 


164        The  Silverado  Squatters 

wooden  wedges,  on  whose  immediate  mar- 
gin, high  above  our  heads,  the  one  tall  pine 
precariously  nodded — these  stood  for  its 
greatness ;  while,  the  dog-hutch,  boot- 
jacks, old  boots,  old  tavern  bills,  and  the 
very  beds  that  we  inherited  from  bygone 
miners,  put  in  human  touches  and  realized 
for  us  the  story  of  the  past. 

I  have  sat  on  an  old  sleeper,  under  the 
thick  madronas  near  the  forge,  with  just 
a  look  over  the  dump  on  the  green  world 
below,  and  seen  the  sun  lying  broad  among 
the  wreck,  and  heard  the  silence  broken 
only  by  the  tinkling  water  in  the  shaft,  or 
a  stir  of  the  royal  family  about  the  battered 
palace,  and  my  mind  has  gone  back  to  the 
epoch  of  the  Stanleys  and  the  Chapmans, 
with  a  grand  tutti  of  pick  and  drill,  hammer 
and  anvil,  echoing  about  the  canyon  ;  the 
assayer  hard  at  it  in  our  dining-room  ;  the 
carts  below  on  the  road,  and  their  cargo  of 
red  mineral  bounding  and  thundering  down 
the  iron  chute.  And  now  all  gone — all 
fallen  away  into  this  sunny  silence  and 
desertion :  a  family  of  squatters  dining  in 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine    165 

the  assayer's  office,  making  their  beds  in 
the  big  sleeping  room  erstwhile  so  crowded, 
keeping  their  wine  in  the  tunnel  that  once 
rang  with  picks. 

But  Silverado  itself,  although  now  fallen 
in  its  turn  into  decay,  was  once  but  a 
mushroom,  and  had  succeeded  to  other 
mines  and  other  flitting  cities.  Twenty 
years  ago,  away  down  the  glen  on  the 
Lake  County  side  there  was  a  place,  Jones- 
town by  name,  with  two  thousand  inhabi- 
tants dwelling  under  canvas,  and  one  roofed 
house  for  the  sale  of  whiskey.  Round  on 
the  western  side  of  Mount  Saint  Helena, 
there  was  at  the  same  date  a  second  large 
encampment,  its  name,  if  it  ever  had  one, 
lost  for  me.  Both  of  these  have  perished, 
leaving  not  a  stick  and  scarce  a  memory 
behind  them.  Tide  after  tide  of  hopeful 
miners  have  thus  flowed  and  ebbed  about 
the  mountain,  coming  and  going,  now  by 
lone  prospectors,  now  with  a  rush.  Last, 
in  order  of  time,  came  Silverado,  reared  the 
big  mill,  in  the  valley,  founded  the  town 
which  is  now  represented,  monumentally, 


1 66        The  Silverado  Squatters 

by  Hanson's,  pierced  all  these  slaps  and 
shafts  and  tunnels,  and  in  turn  declined 
and  died  away. 

"  Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  wake 
Of  the  eternal  silence." 

As  to  the  success  of  Silverado  in  its  time 
of  being,  two  reports  were  current.  Ac- 
cording to  the  first,  six  hundred  thousand 
dollars  were  taken  out  of  that  great  upright 
seam,  that  still  hung  open  above  us  on 
crazy  wedges.  Then  the  ledge  pinched 
out,  and  there  followed,  in  quest  of  the 
remainder,  a  great  drifting  and  tunnelling 
in  all  directions,  and  a  great  consequent 
effusion  of  dollars,  until,  all  parties  being 
sick  of  the  expense,  the  mine  was  deserted, 
and  the  town  decamped.  According  to  the 
second  version,  told  me  with  much  secrecy 
of  manner,  the  whole  affair,  mine,  mill,  and 
town,  were  parts  of  one  majestic  swindle. 
There  had  never  come  any  silver  out  of 
any  portion  of  the  mine  ;  there  was  no 
silver  to  come.  At  midnight  trains  of 
packhorses  might  have  been  observed  wind- 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine    167 

ing  by  devious  tracks  about  the  shoulder  of 
the  mountain.  They  came  from  far  away, 
from  Amador  or  Placer,  laden  with  silver 
in  "  old  cigar  boxes."  They  discharged 
their  load  at  Silverado,  in  the  hour  of 
sleep;  and  before  the  morning  they  were 
gone  again  with  their  mysterious  drivers 
to  their  unknown  source.  In  this  way, 
twenty  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  silver 
was  smuggled  in  under  cover  of  night,  in 
these  old  cigar  boxes ;  mixed  with  Silver- 
ado mineral  ;  carted  down  to  the  mill  ; 
crushed,  amalgamated,  and  refined,  and  de- 
spatched to  the  city  as  the  proper  product 
of  the  mine.  Stock-jobbing,  if  it  can  cover 
such  expenses,  must  be  a  profitable  busi- 
ness in  San  Francisco. 

I  give  these  two  versions  as  I  got  them. 
But  I  place  little  reliance  on  either,  my 
belief  in  history  having  been  greatly 
shaken.  For  it  chanced  that  I  had  come 
to  dwell  in  Silverado  at  a  critical  hour ; 
great  events  in  its  history  were  about  to 
happen — did  happen,  as  I  am  led  to  be- 
lieve ;  nay,  and  it  will  be  seen  that  I  played 


1 68         The  Silverado  Squatters 

a  part  in  that  revolution  myself.  And  yet 
from  first  to  last  I  never  had  a  glimmer  of 
an  idea  what  was  going  on ;  and  even  now, 
after  full  reflection,  profess  myself  at  sea. 
That  there  was  some  obscure  intrigue  of 
the  cigar-box  order,  and  that  I,  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  wooden  puppet,  set  pen  to  paper 
in  the  interest  of  somebody,  so  much,  and 
no  more,  is  certain. 

Silverado,  then  under  my  immediate 
sway,  belonged  to  one  whom  I  will  call  a 
Mr.  Ronalds.  I  only  knew  him  through 
the  extraordinarily  distorting  medium  of 
local  gossip,  now  as  a  momentous  jobber; 
now  as  a  dupe  to  point  an  adage ;  and 
again,  and  much  more  probably,  as  aff' 
ordinary  Christian  gentleman  like  you  or 
me,  who  had  opened  a  mine  and  worked 
it  for  a  while  with  better  and  worse  fortune. 
So,  through  a  defective  window-pane,  you 
may  see  the  passer-by  shoot  up  into  a 
hunchbacked  giant  or  dwindle  into  a  pot- 
bellied dwarf. 

To  Ronalds,  at  least,  the  mine  belonged  ; 
but  the  notice  by  which  he  held  it  would 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine    169 

run  out  upon  the  30th  of  June — or  rather, 
as  I  suppose,  it  had  run  out  already,  and 
the  month  of  grace  would  expire  upon 
that  day,  after  which  any  American  citizen 
might  post  a  notice  of  his  own,  and  make 
Silverado  his.  This,  with  a  sort  of  quiet 
slyness,  Rufe  told  me  at  an  early  period 
of  our  acquaintance.  There  was  no  silver, 
of  course  ;  the  mine  "  wasn't  worth  noth- 
ing, Mr.  Stevens,"  but  there  was  a  deal 
of  old  iron  and  wood  around,  and  to  gain 
possession  of  this  old  wood  and  iron,  and 
get  a  right  to  the  water,  Rufe  proposed, 
if  I  had  no  objections,  to  "  jump  the 
claim." 

Of  course,  I  had  no  objection.  But  I 
was  filled  with  wonder.  If  all  he  wanted 
was  the  wood  and  iron,  what,  in  the  name 
of  fortune,  was  to  prevent  him  taking 
them  ?  "  His  right  there  was  none  to 
dispute."  He  might  lay  hands  on  all  to- 
morrow, as  the  wild  cats  had  laid  hands 
upon  our  knives  and  hatchet.  Besides, 
was  this  mass  of  heavy  mining  plant  worth 
transportation  ?     If   it    was,  why   had    not 


17°        The  Silverado  Squatters 

the  rightful  owners  carted  it  away?  If  it 
was,  would  they  not  preserve  their  title  to 
these  movables,  even  after  they  had  lost 
their  title  to  the  mine  ?  And  if  it  were 
not,  what  the  better  was  Rufe  ?  Noth- 
ing would  grow  at  Silverado ;  there  was 
even  no  wood  to  cut  ;  beyond  a  sense  of 
property,  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained. 
Lastly,  was  it  at  all  credible  that  Ronalds 
would  forget  what  Rufe  remembered? 
The  days  of  grace  were  not  yet  over :  any 
fine  morning  he  might  appear,  paper  in 
hand,  and  enter  for  another  year  on  his 
inheritance.  However,  it  was  none  of  my 
business ;  all  seemed  legal  ;  Rufe  or  Ron- 
alds, all  was  one  to  me. 

On  the  morning  of  the  27th,  Mrs.  Han- 
son appeared  with  the  milk  as  usual,  in  her 
sun-bonnet.  The  time  would  be  out  on 
Tuesday,  she  reminded  us,  and  bade  me 
be  in  readiness  to  play  my  part,  though  I 
had  no  idea  what  it  was  to  be.  And  sup- 
pose Ronalds  came  ?  we  asked.  She  re- 
ceived the  idea  with  derision,  laughing 
aloud  with  all  her  fine  teeth.     He  could 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine    i; ri 

not  find  the  mine  to  save  his  life,  it  ap- 
peared, without  Rufe  to  guide  him.  Last 
year,  when  he  came,  they  heard  him  "  up 
and  down  the  road  a  hollerin'  and  a  raisin' 
Cain."  And  at  last  he  had  to  come  to  the 
Hansons  in  despair,  and  bid  Rufe,  "Jump 
into  your  pants  and  shoes,  and  show  me 
where  this  old  mine  is,  anyway  !  "  Seeing 
that  Ronalds  had  laid  out  so  much  money 
in  the  spot,  and  that  a  beaten  road  led 
right  up  to  the  bottom  of  the  dump,  I 
thought  this  a  remarkable  example.  The 
sense  of  locality  must  be  singularly  in 
abeyance  in  the  case  of  Ronalds. 

That  same  evening,  supper  comfortably 
over,  Joe  Strong  busy  at  work  on  a  draw- 
ing of  the  dump  and  the  opposite  hills,  we 
were  all  out  on  the  platform  together,  sit- 
ting there,  under  the  tented  heavens,  with 
the  same  sense  of  privacy  as  if  we  had  been 
cabined  in  a  parlour,  when  the  sound  of 
brisk  footsteps  came  mounting  up  the 
path.  We  pricked  our  ears  at  this,  for  the 
tread  seemed  lighter  and  firmer  than  was 
usual  with  our  country  neighbours.     And 


172         The  Silverado  Squatters 

presently,  sure  enough,  two  town  gentle- 
men, with  cigars  and  kid  gloves,  came  de- 
bouching past  the  house.  They  looked  in 
that  place  like  a  blasphemy. 

"  Good  evening,"  they  said.  For  none  of 
us  had  stirred ;  we  all  sat  stiff  with  wonder. 

"  Good  evening,"  I  returned  ;  and  then, 
to  put  them  at  their  ease,  "  A  stiff  climb," 
I  added. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  leader  ;  "  but  we  have 
to  thank  you  for  this  path." 

I  did  not  like  the  man's  tone.  None  of 
us  liked  it.  He  did  not  seem  embarrassed 
by  the  meeting,  but  threw  us  his  remarks 
like  favours,  and  strode  magisterially  by  us 
towards  the  shaft  and  tunnel. 

Presently  we  heard  his  voice  raised  to 
his  companion.  "  We  drifted  every  sort  of 
way,  but  couldn't  strike  the  ledge."  Then 
again  :  "  It  pinched  out  here."  And  once 
more :  "  Every  miner  that  ever  worked 
upon  it  says  there's  bound  to  be  a  ledge 
somewhere." 

These  were  the  snatches  of  his  talk  that 
reached  us,  and  they  had  a  damning  signifi- 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine    173 

cance.  We,  the  lords  of  Silverado,  had 
come  face  to  face  with  our  superior.  It  is 
the  worst  of  all  quaint  and  of  all  cheap 
ways  of  life  that  they  bring  us  at  last  to 
the  pinch  of  some  humiliation.  I  liked 
well  enough  to  be  a  squatter  when  there 
was  none  but  Hanson  by  ;  before  Ronalds, 
I  will  own,  I  somewhat  quailed.  I  hast- 
ened to  do  him  fealty,  said  I  gathered  he 
was  the  Squattee,  and  apologized.  He 
threatened  me  with  ejection,  in  a  manner 
grimly  pleasant — more  pleasant  to  him,  I 
fancy,  than  to  me  ;  and  then  he  passed  off 
into  praises  of  the  former  state  of  Silver- 
ado. "  It  was  the  busiest  little  mining 
town  you  ever  saw  : "  a  population  of  be- 
tween a  thousand  and  fifteen  hundred 
souls,  the  engine  in  full  blast,  the  mill 
newly  erected  ;  nothing  going  but  cham- 
pagne, and  hope  the  order  of  the  day. 
Ninety  thousand  dollars  came  out  ;  a  hun- 
dred and  forty  thousand  were  put  in, 
making  a  net  loss  of  fifty  thousand.  The 
last  days,  I  gathered,  the  days  of  John 
Stanley,   were    not    so   bright  ;    the   cham- 


174        The  Silverado  Squatters 

pagne  had  ceased  to  flow,  the  population 
was  already  moving  elsewhere,  and  Silver- 
ado had  begun  to  wither  in  the  branch 
before  it  was  cut  at  the  root.  The  last 
shot  that  was  fired  knocked  over  the  stove 
chimney,  and  made  that  hole  in  the  roof  of 
our  barrack,  through  which  the  sun  was 
wont  to  visit  slug-a-beds  towards  afternoon. 
A  noisy  last  shot,  to  inaugurate  the  days  of 
silence. 

Throughout  this  interview,  my  con- 
science was  a  good  deal  exercised  ;  and  I 
was  moved  to  throw  myself  on  my  knees 
and  own  the  intended  treachery.  But 
then  I  had  Hanson  to  consider.  I  was  in 
much  the  same  position  as  Old  Rowley, 
that  royal  humourist,  whom  "  the  rogue 
had  taken  into  his  confidence."  And  again, 
here  was  Ronalds  on  the  spot.  He  must 
know  the  day  of  the  month  as  well  as  Han- 
son and  I.  If  a  broad  hint  were  necessary, 
he  had  the  broadest  in  the  world.  For  a 
large  board  had  been  nailed  by  the  crown 
prince  on  the  very  front  of  our  house, 
between  the  door  and  window,  painted  in 


Episodes  in  the  Stoiy  of  a  Mine    175 

cinnabar — the  pigment  of  the  country — 
with  doggrel  rhymes  and  contumelious 
pictures,  and  announcing,  in  terms  unneces- 
sarily figurative,  that  the  trick  was  already 
played,  the  claim  already  jumped,  and 
Master  Sam  the  legitimate  successor  of 
Mr.  Ronalds.  But  no,  nothing  could  save 
that  man  ;  queni  dens  vult  perdere,  prins 
dement  at.  As  he  came  so  he  went,  and 
left  his  rights  depending. 

Late  at  night,  by  Silverado  reckoning, 
and  after  we  were  all  abed,  Mrs.  Hanson 
returned  to  give  us  the  newest  of  her  news. 
It  was  like  a  scene  in  a  ship's  steerage  :  all 
of  us  abed  in  our  different  tiers,  the  single 
candle  struggling  with  the  darkness,  and 
this  plump,  handsome  woman,  seated  on 
an  upturned  valise  beside  the  bunks,  talk- 
ing and  showing  her  fine  teeth,  and  laugh- 
ing till  the  rafters  rang.  Any  ship,  to  be 
sure,  with  a  hundredth  part  as  many  holes 
in  it  as  our  barrack,  must  long  ago  have 
gone  to  her  last  port.  Up  to  that  time  I 
had  always  imagined  Mrs.  Hanson's  loqua- 
city to  be  mere  incontinence,  that  she  said 


176        The  Silverado  Squatters 

what  was  uppermost  for  the  pleasure  of 
speaking,  and  laughed  and  laughed  again 
as  a  kind  of  musical  accompaniment.  But 
I  now  found  there  was  an  art  in  it.  I 
found  it  less  communicative  than  silence 
itself.  I  wished  to  know  why  Ronalds  had 
come  ;  how  he  had  found  his  way  without 
Rufe  ;  and  why,  being  on  the  spot,  he  had 
not  refreshed  his  title.  She  talked  inter- 
minably on,  but  her  replies  were  never 
answers.  She  fled  under  a  cloud  of  words  ; 
and  when  I  had  made  sure  that  she  was 
purposely  eluding  me,  I  dropped  the  sub- 
ject in  my  turn,  and  let  her  rattle  where 
she  would. 

She  had  come  to  tell  us  that,  instead  of 
waiting  for  Tuesday,  the  claim  was  to  be 
jumped  on  the  morrow.  How  ?  If  the 
time  were  not  out,  it  was  impossible. 
Why  ?  If  Ronalds  had  come  and  gone, 
and  done  nothing,  there  was  the  less  cause 
for  hurry.  But  again  I  could  reach  no 
satisfaction.  The  claim  was  to  be  jumped 
next  morning,  that  was  all  that  she  would 
condescend  upon. 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine    177 

And  yet  it  was  not  jumped  the  next 
morning,  nor  yet  the  next,  and  a  whole 
week  had  come  and  gone  before  we  heard 
more  of  this  exploit.  That  day  week, 
however,  a  day  of  great  heat,  Hanson, 
with  a  little  roll  of  paper  in  his  hand, 
and  the  eternal  pipe  alight  ;  Breedlove, 
his  large,  dull  friend,  to  act,  I  suppose,  as 
witness  ;  Mrs.  Hanson,  in  her  Sunday  best ; 
and  all  the  children,  from  the  oldest  to  the 
youngest  ; — arrived  in  a  procession,  tailing 
one  behind  another  up  the  path.  Caliban 
was  absent,  but  he  had  been  chary  of  his 
friendly  visits  since  the  row  ;  and  with  that 
exception,  the  whole  family  was  gathered 
together  as  for  a  marriage  or  a  christening. 
Strong  was  sitting  at  work,  in  the  shade  of 
the  dwarf  madronas  near  the  forge  ;  and 
they  planted  themselves  about  him  in  a  cir- 
cle, one  on  a  stone,  another  on  the  waggon 
rails,  a  third  on  a  piece  of  plank.  Gradually 
the  children  stole  away  up  the  canyon  to 
where  there  was  another  chute,  somewhat 
smaller  than  the  one  across  the  dump  ;  and 

down  this  chute,  for  the  rest  of  the  after- 
12 


178        The  Silverado  Squatters 

noon,  they  poured  one  avalanche  of  stones 
after  another,  waking  the  echoes  of  the 
glen.  Meantime  we  elders  sat  together  on 
the  platform,  Hanson  and  his  friend  smok- 
ing in  silence  like  Indian  sachems,  Mrs. 
Hanson  rattling  on  as  usual  with  an  adroit 
volubility,  saying  nothing,  but  keeping  the 
party  at  their  ease  like  a  courtly  hostess. 

Not  a  word  occurred  about  the  business 
of  the  day.  Once,  twice,  and  thrice  I 
tried  to  slide  the  subject  in,  but  was  dis- 
couraged by  the  stoic  apathy  of  Rufe,  and 
beaten  down  before  the  pouring  verbiage 
of  his  wife.  There  is  nothing  of  the  In- 
dian brave  about  me,  and  I  began  to  grill 
with  impatience.  At  last,  like  a  highway 
robber,  I  cornered  Hanson,  and  bade  him 
stand  and  deliver  his  business.  Thereupon 
he  gravely  rose,  as  though  to  hint  that  this 
was  not  a  proper  place,  nor  the  subject  one 
suitable  for  squaws,  and  I,  following  his 
example,  led  him  up  the  plank  into  our 
barrack.  There  he  bestowed  himself  on  a 
box,  and  unrolled  his  papers  with  fastidi- 
ous deliberation.      There  were  two  sheets 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine    179 

of  note-paper,  and  an  old  mining  notice, 
dated  May  30th,  1879,  Part  print,  part 
manuscript,  and  the  latter  much  oblite- 
rated by  the  rains.  It  was  by  this  identi- 
cal piece  of  paper  that  the  mine  had  been 
held  last  year.  For  thirteen  months  it  had 
endured  the  weather  and  the  change  of 
seasons  on  a  cairn  behind  the  shoulder  of 
the  canyon  ;  and  it  was  now  my  business, 
spreading  it  before  me  on  the  table,  and 
sitting  on  a  valise,  to  copy  its  terms,  with 
some  necessary  changes,  twice  over  on  the 
two  sheets  of  note-paper.  One  was  then 
to  be  placed  on  the  same  cairn — a  "  mound 
of  rocks  "  the  notice  put  it  ;  and  the  other 
to  be  lodged  for  registration. 

Rufe  watched  me,  silently  smoking,  till 
I  came  to  the  place  for  the  locator's  name 
at  the  end  of  the  first  copy ;  and  when  I 
proposed  that  he  should  sign,  I  thought 
I  saw  a  scare  in  his  eye.  "  I  don't  think 
that'll  be  necessary,"  he  said  slowly  ;  "  just 
you  write  it  down."  Perhaps  this  mighty 
hunter,  who  was  the  most  active  member 
of  the  local  school  board,  could  not  write. 


180        The  Silverado  Squatters 

There  would  be  nothing  strange  in  that. 
The  constable  of  Calistoga  is,  and  has  been 
for  years,  a  bed-ridden  man,  and,  if  I  re- 
member rightly,  blind.  He  had  more  need 
of  the  emoluments  than  another,  it  was 
explained ;  and  it  was  easy  for  him  to 
"depytize,"  with  a  strong  accent  on  the 
last.  So  friendly  and  so  free  are  popular 
institutions. 

When  I  had  done  my  scrivening,  Hanson 
strolled  out,  and  addressed  Breedlove, 
"  Will  you  step  up  here  a  bit  ?  "  and  after 
they  had  disappeared  a  little  while  into 
the  chaparral  and  madrona  thicket,  they 
came  back  again,  minus  a  notice,  and  the 
deed  was  done.  The  claim  was  jumped  ; 
a  tract  of  mountain-side,  fifteen  hundred 
feet  long  by  six  hundred  wide,  with  all  the 
earth's  precious  bowels,  had  passed  from 
Ronalds  to  Hanson,  and,  in  the  passage, 
changed  its  name  from  the  "  Mammoth  " 
to  the  "  Calistoga."  I  had  tried  to  get 
Rufe  to  call  it  after  his  wife,  after  himself, 
and  after  Garfield,  the  Republican  Presi- 
dential candidate  of  the  hour — since  then 


Episodes  in  the  Story  of  a  Mine    181 

elected,  and,  alas!  dead — but  all  was  in 
vain.  The  claim  had  once  been  called  the 
Calistoga  before,  and  he  seemed  to  feel 
safety  in  returning  to  that. 

And  so  the  history  of  that  mine  became 
once  more  plunged  in  darkness,  lit  only  by 
some  monster  pyrotechnical  displays  of 
gossip.  And  perhaps  the  most  curious 
feature  of  the  whole  matter  is  this  :  that 
we  should  have  dwelt  in  this  quiet  corner 
of  the  mountains,  with  not  a  dozen  neigh- 
bours, and  yet  struggled  all  the  while,  like 
desperate  swimmers,  in  this  sea  of  falsities 
and  contradictions.  Wherever  a  man  is, 
there  will  be  a  lie. 


TOILS   AND   PLEASURES 


TOILS   AND   PLEASURES 

MUST  try  to  convey  some  notion  of  our 
life,  of  how  the  days  passed  and  what 
pleasure  we  took  in  them,  of  what  there 
was  to  do  and  how  we  set  about  doing  it, 
in  our  mountain  heritage.  The  house, 
after  we  had  repaired  the  worst  of  the 
damages,  and  filled  in  some  of  the  doors 
and  windows  with  white  cotton  cloth,  be- 
came a  healthy  and  a  pleasant  dwelling- 
place,  always  airy  and  dry,  and  haunted  by 
the  outdoor  perfumes  of  the  glen.  Within, 
it  had  the  look  of  habitation,  the  human 
look.  You  had  only  to  go  into  the  third 
room,  which  we  did  not  use,  and  see  its 
stones,  its  sifting  earth,  its  tumbled  litter; 
and  then  return  to  our  lodging,  with  the 
beds  made,  the  plates  on  the  rack,  the  pail 


1 86        The  Silverado  Squatters 

of  bright  water  behind  the  door,  the  stove 
crackling  in  a  corner,  and  perhaps  the  table 
roughly  laid  against  a  meal, — and  man's 
order,  the  little  clean  spots  that  he  creates 
to  dwell  in,  were  at  once  contrasted  with 
the  rich  passivity  of  nature.  And  yet  our 
house  was  everywhere  so  wrecked  and 
shattered,  the  air  came  and  went  so  freely, 
the  sun  found  so  many  portholes,  the 
golden  outdoor  glow  shone  in  so  many 
open  chinks,  that  we  enjoyed,  at  the  same 
time,  some  of  the  comforts  of  a  roof  and 
much  of  the  gaiety  and  brightness  of  al 
fresco  life.  A  single  shower  of  rain,  to  be 
sure,  and  we  should  have  been  drowned  out 
like  mice.  But  ours  was  a  Californian  sum- 
mer, and  an  earthquake  was  a  far  likelier 
accident  than  a  shower  of  rain. 

Trustful  in  this  fine  weather,  we  kept  the 
house  for  kitchen  and  bedroom,  and  used 
the  platform  as  our  summer  parlour.  The 
sense  of  privacy,  as  I  have  said  already,  was 
complete.  We  could  look  over  the  dump 
on  miles  of  forest  and  rough  hilltop  ;  our 
eyes    commanded    some    of    Napa   Valley, 


Toils  and  Pleasures  187 

where  the  train  ran,  and  the  little  country- 
townships  sat  so  close  together  along  the 
line  of  the  rail.  But  here  there  was  no 
man  to  intrude.  None  but  the  Hansons 
were  our  visitors.  Even  they  came  but  at 
long  intervals,  or  twice  daily,  at  a  stated 
hour,  with  milk.  So  our  days,  as  they  were 
never  interrupted,  drew  out  to  the  greater 
length  ;  hour  melted  insensibly  into  hour  ; 
the  household  duties,  though  they  were 
many,  and  some  of  them  laborious,  dwin- 
dled into  mere  islets  of  business  in  a  sea 
of  sunny  day-time  ;  and  it  appears  to  me, 
looking  back,  as  though  the  far  greater  part 
of  our  life  at  Silverado  had  been  passed, 
propped  upon  an  elbow,  or  seated  on  a 
plank,  listening  to  the  silence  that  there 
is  among  the  hills. 

My  work,  it  is  true,  was  over  early  in  the 
morning.  I  rose  before  any  one  else,  lit 
the  stove,  put  on  the  water  to  boil,  and 
strolled  forth  upon  the  platform  to  wait 
till  it  was  ready.  Silverado  would  then 
be  still  in  shadow,  the  sun  shining  on  the 
mountain    higher   up.     A    clean    smell    of 


1 88         The  Silverado  Squatters 

trees,  a  smell  of  the  earth  at  morning,  hung 
in  the  air.  Regularly,  every  day,  there  was 
a  single  bird,  not  singing,  but  awkwardly 
chirruping  among  the  green  madronas,  and 
the  sound  was  cheerful,  natural,  and  stir- 
ring. It  did  not  hold  the  attention,  nor 
interrupt  the  thread  of  meditation,  like  a 
blackbird  or  a  nightingale  ;  it  was  mere 
woodland  prattle,  of  which  the  mind  was 
conscious  like  a  perfume.  The  freshness 
of  these  morning  seasons  remained  with 
me  far  on  into  the  day. 

As  soon  as  the  kettle  boiled,  I  made 
porridge  and  coffee ;  and  that,  beyond  the 
literal  drawing  of  water,  and  the  prepara- 
tion of  kindling,  which  it  would  be  hyper- 
bolical to  call  the  hewing  of  wood,  ended 
my  domestic  duties  for  the  day.  Thence- 
forth my  wife  laboured  single-handed  in 
the  palace,  and  I  lay  or  wandered  on  the 
platform  at  my  own  sweet  will.  The  little 
corner  near  the  forge,  where  we  found  a 
refuge  under  the  madronas  from  the  unspar- 
ing early  sun,  is  indeed  connected  in  my 
mind  with  some  nightmare  encounters  over 


Toils  and  Pleasures  189 

Euclid,  and  the  Latin  Grammar.  These 
were  known  as  Sam's  lessons.  He  was 
supposed  to  be  the  victim  and  the  sufferer; 
but  here  there  must  have  been  some  mis- 
conception, for  whereas  I  generally  retired 
to  bed  after  one  of  these  engagements, 
he  was  no  sooner  set  free  than  he  dashed 
up  to  the  Chinaman's  house,  where  he  had 
installed  a  printing  press,  that  great  ele- 
ment of  civilization,  and  the  sound  of  his 
labours  would  be  faintly  audible  about  the 
canyon  half  the  day. 

To  walk  at  all  was  a  laborious  business ; 
the  foot  sank  and  slid,  the  boots  were  cut 
to  pieces,  among  sharp,  uneven,  rolling 
stones.  When  we  crossed  the  platform  in 
any  direction,  it  was  usual  to  lay  a  course, 
following  as  much  as  possible  the  line  of 
waggon  rails.  Thus,  if  water  were  to  be 
drawn,  the  water-carrier  left  the  house 
along  some  tilting  planks  that  we  had 
laid  down,  and  not  laid  down  very  well. 
These  carried  him  to  that  great  highroad, 
the  railway ;  and  the  railway  served  him 
as  far  as  to  the  head  of  the  shaft.     But 


190         The  Silverado  Squatters 

from  thence  to  the  spring  and  back  again 
he  made  the  best  of  his  unaided  way,  stag- 
gering among  the  stones,  and  wading  in 
low  growth  of  the  calcanthus,  where  the 
rattlesnakes  lay  hissing  at  his  passage. 
Yet  I  liked  to  draw  water.  It  was  pleasant 
to  dip  the  gray  metal  pail  into  the  clean, 
colourless,  cool  water ;  pleasant  to  carry 
it  back,  with  the  water  lipping  at  the  edge, 
and  a  broken  sunbeam  quivering  in  the 
midst. 

But  the  extreme  roughness  of  the  walk- 
ing confined  us  in  common  practice  to  the 
platform,  and  indeed  to  those  parts  of  it 
that  were  most  easily  accessible  along  the 
line  of  rails.  The  rails  came  straight  for- 
ward from  the  shaft,  here  and  there  over- 
grown with  little  green  bushes,  but  still 
entire,  and  still  carrying  a  truck,  which  it 
was  Sam's  delight  to  trundle  to  and  fro 
by  the  hour  with  various  ladings.  About 
midway  down  the  platform,  the  railroad 
trended  to  the  right,  leaving  our  house 
and  coasting  along  the  far  side  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  madronas  and  the  forge, 


Toils  and  Pleastires  191 

and  not  far  off  the  latter,  ended  in  a  sort 
of  platform  on  the  edge  of  the  dump. 
There,  in  old  days,  the  trucks  were  tipped, 
and  their  load  sent  thundering  down  the 
chute.  There,  besides,  was  the  only  spot 
where  we  could  approach  the  margin  of 
the  dump.  Anywhere  else,  you  took  your 
life  in  your  right  hand  when  you  came 
within  a  yard  and  a  half  to  peer  over. 
For  at  any  moment  the  dump  might  be- 
gin to  slide  and  carry  you  down  and  bury 
you  below  its  ruins.  Indeed,  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  an  old  mine  is  a  place  beset 
with  dangers.  For  as  still  as  Silverado 
was,  at  any  moment  the  report  of  rotten 
wood  might  tell  us  that  the  platform  had 
fallen  into  the  shaft ;  the  dump  might  begin 
to  pour  into  the  road  below  ;  or  a  wedge 
slip  in  the  great  upright  seam,  and  hun- 
dreds of  tons  of  mountain  bury  the  scene 
of  our  encampment. 

I  have  already  compared  the  dump  to 
a  rampart,  built  certainly  by  some  rude 
people,  and  for  prehistoric  wars.  It  was 
likewise  a  frontier.     All   below  was   green 


192         The  Silverado  Squatters 

and  woodland,  the  tall  pines  soaring  one 
above  another,  each  with  a  firm  outline 
and  full  spread  of  bough.  All  above  was 
arid,  rocky,  and  bald.  The  great  spout  of 
broken  mineral,  that  had  dammed  the 
canyon  up,  was  a  creature  of  man's  handi- 
work, its  material  dug  out  with  a  pick  and 
powder,  and  spread  by  the  service  of  the 
trucks.  But  nature  herself,  in  that  upper 
district,  seemed  to  have  had  an  eye  to 
nothing  besides  mining ;  and  even  the 
natural  hillside  was  all  sliding  gravel  and 
precarious  boulder.  Close  at  the  margin 
of  the  well  leaves  would  decay  to  skele- 
tons and  mummies,  which  at  length  some 
stronger  gust  would  carry  clear  of  the  can- 
yon and  scatter  in  the  subjacent  woods. 
Even  moisture  and  decaying  vegetable  mat- 
ter could  not,  with  all  nature's  alchemy, 
concoct  enough  soil  to  nourish  a  few  poor 
grasses.  It  is  the  same,  they  say,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  all  silver  mines ;  the 
nature  of  that  precious  rock  being  stub- 
born with  quartz  and  poisonous  with  cinna- 
bar.    Both  were  plenty  in    our   Silverado. 


Toils  and  Pleasures  193 

The  stones  sparkled  white  in  the  sunshine 
with  quartz  ;  they  were  all  stained  red  with 
cinnabar.  Here,  doubtless,  came  the  In- 
dians of  yore  to  paint  their  faces  for  the 
war-path ;  and  cinnabar,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  was  one  of  the  few  articles  of  Indian 
commerce.  Now,  Sam  had  it  in  his  undis- 
turbed possession,  to  pound  down  and  slake, 
and  paint  his  rude  designs  with.  But  to 
me  it  had  always  a  fine  flavour  of  poetry, 
compounded  out  of  Indian  story  and  Haw- 
thornden's  allusion : 

"  Desire,  alas  !  desire  a  Zeuxis  new, 

From  Indies  borrowing  gold,  from  Eastern  skies 
Most  bright  cinoper  .  .  ." 

Yet  this  is  but  half  the  picture ;  our 
Silverado  platform  has  another  side  to  it. 
Though  there  was  no  soil,  and  scarce  a 
blade  of  grass,  yet  out  of  these  tumbled 
gravel-heaps  and  broken  boulders,  a  flower 
garden  bloomed  as  at  home  in  a  conserva- 
tory. Calcanthus  crept,  like  a  hardy  weed, 
all  over  our  rough  parlour,  choking  the  rail- 
way, and  pushing  forth  its  rusty,  aromatic 
13 


194        The  Silverado  Squatters 

cones  from  between  two  blocks  of  shat- 
tered mineral.  Azaleas  made  a  big  snow- 
bed  just  above  the  well.  The  shoulder  of 
the  hill  waved  white  with  Mediterranean 
heath.  In  the  crannies  of  the  ledge  and 
about  the  spurs  of  the  tall  pine,  a  red  flow- 
ering stone-plant  hung  in  clusters.  Even 
low,  thorny  chaparral  was  thick  with  pea- 
like blossom.  Close  at  the  foot  of  our 
path  nutmegs  prospered,  delightful  to  the 
sight  and  smell.  At  sunrise,  and  again 
late  at  night,  the  scent  of  the  sweet  bay- 
trees  filled  the  canyon,  and  the  down-blow- 
ing night  wind  must  have  borne  it  hun- 
dreds of  feet  into  the  outer  air. 

All  this  vegetation,  to  be  sure,  was 
stunted.  The  madrona  was  here  no  big- 
ger than  the  manzanita  ;  the  bay  was  but 
a  stripling  shrub  ;  the  very  pines,  with  four 
or  five  exceptions  in  all  our  upper  canyon, 
were  not  so  tall  as  myself,  or  but  a  little 
taller,  and  the  most  of  them  came  lower 
than  my  waist.  For  a  prosperous  forest 
tree,  we  must  look  below,  where  the  glen 
was  crowded   with   green   spires.     But   for 


Toils  and  Pleastires  195 

flowers  and  ravishing  perfume,  we  had  none 
to  envy :  our  heap  of  road-metal  was  thick 
with  bloom,  like  a  hawthorn  in  the  front  of 
June;  our  red,  baking  angle  in  the  moun- 
tain, a  laboratory  of  poignant  scents.  It 
was  an  endless  wonder  to  my  mind,  as  I 
dreamed  about  the  platform,  following 
the  progress  of  the  shadows,  where  the 
madrona  with  its  leaves,  the  azalea  and 
calcanthus  with  their  blossoms,  could  find 
moisture  to  support  such  thick,  wet,  waxy 
growths,  or  the  bay  tree  collect  the  in- 
gredients of  its  perfume.  But  there  they 
all  grew  together,  healthy,  happy,  and 
happy-making,  as  though  rooted  in  a 
fathom  of  black  soil. 

Nor  was  it  only  vegetable  life  that  pros- 
pered. We  had,  indeed,  few  birds,  and 
none  that  had  much  of  a  voice  or  anything 
worthy  to  be  called  a  song.  My  morning 
comrade  had  a  thin  chirp,  unmusical  and 
monotonous,  but  friendly  and  pleasant  to 
hear.  He  had  but  one  rival :  a  fellow  with 
an  ostentatious  cry  of  near  an  octave  de- 
scending, not  one  note  of  which  properly 


196        The  Silverado  Squatters 

followed  another.  This  is  the  only  bird  I 
ever  knew  with  a  wrong  ear ;  but  there  was 
something  enthralling  about  his  perform- 
ance. You  listened  and  listened,  thinking- 
each  time  he  must  surely  get  it  right ;  but 
no,  it  was  always  wrong,  and  always  wrong 
the  same  way.  Yet  he  seemed  proud  of 
his  song,  delivered  it  with  execution  and  a 
manner  of  his  own,  and  was  charming  to  his 
mate.  A  very  incorrect,  incessant  human 
whistler  had  thus  a  chance  of  knowing  how 
his  own  music  pleased  the  world.  Two  great 
birds — eagles,  we  thought — dwelt  at  the  top 
of  the  canyon,  among  the  crags  that  were 
printed  on  the  sky.  Now  and  again,  but 
very  rarely,  they  wheeled  high  over  our 
heads  in  silence,  or  with  a  distant,  dying 
scream ;  and  then,  with  a  fresh  impulse, 
winged  fleetly  forward,  dipped  over  a  hill- 
top, and  were  gone.  They  seemed  solemn 
and  ancient  things,  sailing  the  blue  air  :  per- 
haps co-ceval  with  the  mountain  where  they 
haunted,  perhaps  emigrants  from  Rome, 
where  the  glad  legions  may  have  shouted 
to  behold  them  on  the  morn  of  battle. 


Toils  and  Pleasures  197 

But  if  birds  were  rare,  the  place  abounded 
with  rattlesnakes — the  rattlesnake's  nest,  it 
might  have  been  named.  Wherever  we 
brushed  among  the  bushes,  our  passage 
woke  their  angry  buzz.  One  dwelt  habitu- 
ally in  the  wood-pile,  and  sometimes,  when 
we  came  for  firewood,  thrust  up  his  small 
head  between  two  logs,  and  hissed  at  the 
intrusion.  The  rattle  has  a  legendary 
credit ;  it  is  said  to  be  awe-inspiring,  and, 
once  heard,  to  stamp  itself  for  ever  in  the 
memory.  But  the  sound  is  not  at  all 
alarming ;  the  hum  of  many  insects,  and 
the  buzz  of  the  wasp  convince  the  ear  of 
danger  quite  as  readily.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  we  lived  for  weeks  in  Silverado,  com- 
ing and  going,  with  rattles  sprung  on  every 
side,  and  it  never  occurred  to  us  to  be 
afraid.  I  used  to  take  sun-baths  and  do 
calisthenics  in  a  certain  pleasant  nook 
among  azalea  and  calcanthus,  the  rattles 
whizzing  on  every  side  like  spinning-wheels, 
and  the  combined  hiss  or  buzz  rising  louder 
and  angrier  at  any  sudden  movement  ;  but 
I  was  never  in  the  least  impressed,  nor  ever 


198        The  Silverado  Squatters 

attacked.     It  was  only  towards  the  end  of 
our  stay,  that   a  man  down    at   Calistoga, 
who  was  expatiating  on  the  terrifying  na- 
ture of  the  sound,  gave  me  at  last  a  very 
good    imitation ;    and    it    burst    on    me    at 
once  that  we  dwelt  in  the  very  metropolis 
of  deadly  snakes,  and  that  the  rattle  was 
simply  the  commonest  noise  in  Silverado. 
Immediately    on    our   return,  we   attacked 
the    Hansons  on    the  subject.      They  had 
formerly  assured    us  that   our  canyon  was 
favoured,  like  Ireland,  with  an  entire   im- 
munity from  poisonous  reptiles ;  but,  with 
the   perfect   inconsequence  of   the  natural 
man,  they  were  no  sooner  found  out  than 
they  went  off  at  score  in  the  contrary  direc- 
tion, and  we  were  told  that  in  no  part  of 
the  world  did  rattlesnakes  attain  to  such  a 
monstrous    bigness    as   among    the    warm, 
flower-dotted  rocks  of  Silverado.     This  is  a 
contribution  rather  to  the  natural  history 
of  the  Hansons,  than  to  that  of  snakes. 

One  person,  however,  better  served  by 
his  instinct,  had  known  the  rattle  from 
the  first ;   and   that  was  Chuchu,  the  dog. 


Toils  and  Pleasures  199 

No  rational  creature  has  ever  led  an  exist- 
ence more  poisoned  by  terror  than  that 
dog's  at  Silverado.  Every  whiz  of  the 
rattle  made  him  bound.  His  eyes  rolled  ; 
he  trembled  ;  he  would  be  often  wet  with 
sweat.  One  of  our  great  mysteries  was 
his  terror  of  the  mountain.  A  little  away 
above  our  nook,  the  azaleas  and  almost  all 
the  vegetation  ceased.  Dwarf  pines  not 
big  enough  to  be  Christmas  trees,  grew 
thinly  among  loose  stone  and  gravel  scaurs. 
Here  and  there  a  big  boulder  sat  quiescent 
on  a  knoll,  having  paused  there  till  the 
next  rain  in  his  long  slide  down  the  moun- 
tain. There  was  here  no  ambuscade  for 
the  snakes,  you  could  see  clearly  where 
you  trod  ;  and  yet  the  higher  I  went,  the 
more  abject  and  appealing  became  Chu- 
chu's  terror.  He  was  an  excellent  master 
of  that  composite  language  in  which  dogs 
communicate  with  men,  and  he  would  as- 
sure me,  on  his  honour,  that  there  was 
some  peril  on  the  mountain  ;  appeal  to  me, 
by  all  that  I  held  holy,  to  turn  back  ;  and 
at  length,  finding  all  was  in  vain,  and  that 


/ 


200        The  Silverado  Squatters 

I  still  persisted,  ignorantly  foolhardy,  he 
would  suddenly  whip  round  and  make  a 
bee-line  down  the  slope  for  Silverado,  the 
gravel  showering  after  him.  What  was  he 
afraid  of?  There  were  admittedly  brown 
bears  and  California  lions  on  the  moun- 
tain ;  and  a  grizzly  visited  Rufe's  poultry 
yard  not  long  before,  to  the  unspeakable 
alarm  of  Caliban,  who  dashed  out  to  chas- 
tise the  intruder,  and  found  himself,  by 
moonlight,  face  to  face  with  such  a  tartar. 
Something  at  least  there  must  have  been  : 
some  hairy,  dangerous  brute  lodged  per- 
manently among  the  rocks  a  little  to  the 
north-west  of  Silverado,  spending  his  sum- 
mer thereabout,  with  wife  and  family. 

And  there  was,  or  there  had  been,  an- 
other animal.  Once,  under  the  broad  day- 
light, on  that  open  stony  hillside,  where 
the  baby  pines  were  growing,  scarcely  tall 
enough  to  be  a  badge  for  a  MacGregor's 
bonnet,  I  came  suddenly  upon  his  innocent 
body,  lying  mummified  by  the  dry  air  and 
sun  :  a  pigmy  kangaroo.  I  am  ingloriously 
ignorant  of  these  subjects  ;  had  never  heard 


Toils  and  Pleasures  201 

of  such  a  beast ;  thought  myself  face  to 
face  with  some  incomparable  sport  of  na- 
ture ;  and  began  to  cherish  hopes  of  im- 
mortality in  science.  Rarely  have  I  been 
conscious  of  a  stranger  thrill  than  when 
I  raised  that  singular  creature  from  the 
stones,  dry  as  a  board,  his  innocent  heart 
long  quiet,  and  all  warm  with  sunshine. 
His  long  hind  legs  were  stiff,  his  tiny  fore- 
paws  clutched  upon  his  breast,  as  if  to 
leap ;  his  poor  life  cut  short  upon  that 
mountain  by  some  unknown  accident.  But 
the  kangaroo  rat,  it  proved,  was  no  such 
unknown  animal ;  and  my  discovery  was 
nothing. 

Crickets  were  not  wanting.  I  thought 
I  could  make  out  exactly  four  of  them, 
each  with  a  corner  of  his  own,  who  used 
to  make  night  musical  at  Silverado.  In 
the  matter  of  voice,  they  far  excelled  the 
birds,  and  their  ringing  whistle  sounded 
from  rock  to  rock,  calling  and  replying 
the  same  thing,  as  in  a  meaningless  opera. 
Thus,  children  in  full  health  and  spirits 
shout   together,   to   the   dismay  of   neigh- 


202        The  Silver  ado  Squatters 

bours  ;  and  their  idle,  happy,  deafening 
vociferations  rise  and  fall,  like  the  song  of 
the  crickets.  I  used  to  sit  at  night  on 
the  platform,  and  wonder  why  these  creat- 
ures were  so  happy;  and  what  was  wrong 
with  man  that  he  also  did  not  wind  up  his 
days  with  an  hour  or  two  of  shouting ;  but 
I  suspect  that  all  long-lived  animals  are 
solemn.  The  dogs  alone  are  hardly  used 
by  nature;  and  it  seems  a  manifest  injus- 
tice for  poor  Chuchu  to  die  in  his  teens, 
after  a  life  so  shadowed  and  troubled, 
continually  shaken  with  alarm,  and  the 
tear  of  elegant  sentiment  permanently  in 
his  eye. 

There  was  another  neighbour  of  ours  at 
Silverado,  small  but  very  active,  a  destruc- 
tive fellow.  This  was  a  black,  ugly  fly — a 
bore,  the  Hansons  called  him — who  lived 
by  hundreds  in  the  boarding  of  our  house. 
He  entered  by  a  round  hole,  more  neatly 
pierced  than  a  man  could  do  it  with  a  gim- 
let, and  he  seems  to  have  spent  his  life  in 
cutting  out  the  interior  of  the  plank,  but 
whether  as  a  dwelling  or  a  store-house,  I 


Toils  and  Pleasures  203 

could  never  find.  When  I  used  to  lie  in 
bed  in  the  morning  for  a  rest — we  had  no 
easy-chairs  in  Silverado — I  would  hear, 
hour  after  hour,  the  sharp  cutting  sound  of 
his  labours,  and  from  time  to  time  a  dainty 
shower  of  sawdust  would  fall  upon  the 
blankets.  There  lives  no  more  industrious 
creature  than  a  bore. 

And  now  that  I  have  named  to  the 
reader  all  our  animals  and  insects  without 
exception — only  I  find  I  have  forgotten 
the  flies — he  will  be  able  to  appreciate  the 
singular  privacy  and  silence  of  our  days. 
It  was  not  only  man  who  was  excluded  : 
animals,  the  song  of  birds,  the  lowing  of 
cattle,  the  bleating  of  sheep,  clouds  even? 
and  the  variations  of  the  weather,  were 
here  also  wanting  ;  and  as,  day  after  day, 
the  sky  was  one  dome  of  blue,  and  the 
pines  below  us  stood  motionless  in  the  still 
air,  so  the  hours  themselves  were  marked 
out  from  each  other  only  by  the  series  of 
our  own  affairs,  and  the  sun's  great  period 
as  he  ranged  westward  through  the  heavens. 
The  two  birds  cackled  a  while  in  the  early 


204         The  Silverado  Squatters 

morning  ;  all  day  the  water  tinkled  in  the 
shaft,  the  bores  ground  sawdust  in  the 
planking  of  our  crazy  palace — infinitesimal 
sounds  ;  and  it  was  only  with  the  return  of 
night  that  any  change  would  fall  on  our 
surroundings,  or  the  four  crickets  begin 
to  flute  together  in  the  dark. 

Indeed,  it  would  be  hard  to  exaggerate 
the  pleasure  that  we  took  in  the  approach 
of  evening.  Our  day  was  not  very  long, 
but  it  was  very  tiring.  To  trip  along  un- 
steady planks  or  wade  among  shifting 
stones,  to  go  to  and  fro  for  water,  to 
clamber  down  the  glen  to  the  Toll  House 
after  meat  and  letters,  to  cook,  to  make 
fires  and  beds,  were  all  exhausting  to  the 
body.  Life  out  of  doors,  besides,  under 
the  fierce  eye  of  day,  draws  largely  on  the. 
animal  spirits.  There  are  certain  hours  in 
the  afternoon  when  a  man,  unless  he  is  in 
strong  health  or  enjoys  a  vacant  mind, 
would  rather  creep  into  a  cool  corner  of  a 
house  and  sit  upon  the  chairs  of  civilization. 
About  that  time,  the  sharp  stones,  the 
planks,  the  upturned   boxes  of   Silverado, 


Toils  and  Pleasures  205 

began    to    grow   irksome   to    my   body ;  I 
set    out     on    that    hopeless,     never-ending 
quest   for  a  more  comfortable   posture  ;  I 
would  be  fevered  and  weary  of  the  staring 
sun  ;  and    just  then  he   would  begin  cour- 
teously to   withdraw  his  countenance,  the 
shadows     lengthened,    the     aromatic    airs 
awoke,    and    an    indescribable    but    happy 
change  announced  the  coming  of  the  night. 
The   hours   of   evening,    when    we   were 
once   curtained   in   the  friendly  dark,  sped 
lightly.     Even  as  with  the    crickets,  night 
brought  to  us  a  certain  spirit  of  rejoicing. 
It  was  good  to  taste  the  air  ;  good  to  mark 
the  dawning  of  the  stars,  as  they  increased 
their    glittering    company ;    good,    too,    to 
gather    stones,    and     send    them    crashing 
down     the     chute,    a   wave     of    light.      It 
seemed,  in  some  way,  the  reward  and  the 
fulfilment  of  the  day.     So  it  is  when  men 
dwell  in  the  open  air  ;  it  is  one  of  the  sim- 
ple pleasures  that  we  lose  by  living  cribbed 
and  covered  in  a  house,  that,  though  the 
coming  of  the  day  is  still  the  most  inspirit- 
ing,   yet    day's    departure,    also,    and    the 


206        The  Silverado  Squatters 

return  of  night  refresh,  renew,  and  quiet 
us  ;  and  in  the  pastures  of  the  dusk  we 
stand,  like  cattle,  exulting  in  the  absence 
of  the  load. 

Our  nights  were  never  cold,  and  they 
were  always  still,  but  for  one  remarkable 
exception.  Regularly,  about  nine  o'clock, 
a  warm  wind  sprang  up,  and  blew  for  ten 
minutes,  or  maybe  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
right  down  the  canyon,  fanning  it  well  out, 
airing  it  as  a  mother  airs  the  night  nur- 
sery before  the  children  sleep.  As  far  as  I 
could  judge,  in  the  clear  darkness  of  the 
night,  this  wind  was  purely  local  :  perhaps 
dependant  on  the  configuration  of  the  glen. 
At  least,  it  was  very  welcome  to  the  hot 
and  weary  squatters  ;  and  if  we  were  not 
abed  already,  the  springing  up  of  this 
lilliputian  valley-wind  would  often  be  our 
signal  to  retire. 

I  was  the  last  to  go  to  bed,  as  I  was  still 
the  first  to  rise.  Many  a  night  I  have 
strolled  about  the  platform,  taking  a  bath 
of  darkness  before  I  slept.  The  rest  would 
be  in  bed,  and  even  from  the  forge  I  could 


Toils  and  Pleasures  207 

hear  them  talking  together  from  bunk  to 
bunk.  A  single  candle  in  the  neck  of  a 
pint  bottle  was  their  only  illumination; 
and  yet  the  old  cracked  house  seemed  liter- 
ally bursting  with  the  light.  It  shone  keen 
as  a  knife  through  all  the  vertical  chinks ; 
it  struck  upward  through  the  broken  shin- 
gles ;  and  through  the  eastern  door  and 
window,  it  fell  in  a  great  splash  upon  the 
thicket  and  the  overhanging  rock.  You 
would  have  said  a  conflagration,  or  at  the 
least  a  roaring  forge  ;  and  behold,  it  was 
but  a  candle.  Or  perhaps  it  was  yet  more 
strange  to  see  the  procession  moving  bed- 
wards  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  and 
up  the  plank  that  brought  us  to  the  bed- 
room door  ;  under  the  immense  spread  of 
the  starry  heavens,  down  in  a  crevice  of  the 
giant  mountain,  these  few  human  shapes, 
with  their  unshielded  taper,  made  so  dis- 
proportionate a  figure  in  the  eye  and  mind. 
But  the  more  he  is  alone  with  nature,  the 
greater  man  and  his  doings  bulk  in  the  con- 
sideration of  his  fellow-men.  Miles  and 
miles  away  upon  the  opposite  hilltops,  if 


208         The  Silverado  Squatters 

there  were  any  hunter  belated  or  any  trav. 
eller  who  had  lost  his  way,  he  must  have 
stood,  and  watched  and  wondered,  from 
the  time  the  candle  issued  from  the  door  of 
the  assayer's  office  till  it  had  mounted  the 
plank  and  disappeared  again  into  the 
miners'  dormitory. 


144  0 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 

ID' 


JAN  2  9  1935 
I  flPR  2  9  1935 

( 


HtV'    " 


.,c     gA^ 


1 5  i*rff 

UMJKL     OCT  2 
LRECD 


&    FEB     3 

FEB 


Form  L-9-15m-7,'31 


*tfQ, 


OCT  11 


HRL-LD    Kjan 

MKL       APR 

r-uwr 


j   SEP.2  41973 
JUN20  1973 


31977 


382 


LD-U 


11983 


o   17  58  00416 


4066 


<V> 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  376  877    7 


